O Captain, My Captain
by DethMeggle
Summary: Follows the story of an intrepid OC after the inevitable attack on Earth. Brought aboard a Hive ship, how will she and others adjust to life? What will they change? First FF ever, be gentle with me.
1. The Thunder of Boots

"Plausible deniability."

The words echoed in Thora's head with a pulse of rage. Those _fuckers_, she thought bitterly. Her mouth curled down in frustration and hatred.

She followed the ragtag group up the black street toward the extraction point. They moved as silently as they could, all of them shaking with fear and looking over their shoulders. Flanking them were equally frightened men clutching what weapons they had in trembling hands. Thora herself brought up the rear, one sturdy staff in her hands the only protection she had against the scourge.

This morning an announcement had come on all radio stations and television networks. It blared in every corner of the world, was plastered across every newspaper, and still nobody had believed it. Invasion was imminent, they said. The Powers That Be had kept everything a secret, just hinting at their operations in popular television shows. When asked why they'd chosen that particular outlet to both warn and soothe the masses, the general facing the press conference had said "Plausible deniability."

Few had heeded the warning. Most of them still remembered stories about a radio broadcast inciting panic decades ago. They'd rolled their eyes and huffed a little at the pitiful excuse for humor.

Nobody was laughing now.

Countless people had been swept up in bright beams of light. Ships hovered overhead, and she could hear a screaming above them as jets waged furious and ultimately futile battle with the smaller aircraft. Power grids had been the first to go. Worldwide communication had been blacked out. From the broadcasts earlier people recalled emergency extraction locations, and whatever survivors remained were making their way toward the meccas of salvation. The 'gates, as the general had called them, would be shut down in one hour and the facilities that held them destroyed so there could be no possibility of the creatures following them to their safe havens.

Thora wasn't sure they could make it.

On her back Guy mewled from his pack. She'd been unable to leave the runty cat behind and feared turning him loose. She hoped to convince one of the people she was herding toward safety to take him on once they reached the threshold. There was no way all of them would make it. They were on a huge time crunch, and Thora was expecting to encounter resistance along the way.

Speaking of.

The heavy boots signaled their enemies' approach. She let out a low whistle, and the man on her left guided the bulk of their group toward a burnt-out storefront. There they huddled and waited for their pursuers to pass. She herself took up residence behind a stack of smashed produce crates.

Thud. Thud. Thud. The heavy footsteps were in time with her thundering heart. She wasn't afraid for herself. Friends and family had already escaped or been destroyed. She had no intention of living through this encounter. What she couldn't handle was the idea that her wide-eyed charges would be found and dragged screaming into the street and sucked dry, children murdered in front of their parents or vice versa.

Across the way nobody made a peep. They'd learned their lesson. One of the men, hours ago, had failed to hold in a sneeze. Everyone up to then had been complaining about their discomfort, evidently failing to realize the gravity of their situation. Needless to say the man was no longer with him, and the remaining clutch of people still carried the echoes of his suffering with them. Their idiotic protests had stopped.

Thora wasn't a fighter. She wasn't a soldier. She had a very rudimentary understanding of martial arts, but she had instincts. Her father had been a police officer and one of her ex-boyfriends was military. What little they'd told her was enough for her to hold her shit together now.

The dreaded boots were passing. When she was certain they had passed her location she risked a peek out. Long black coats and white hair fluttered in a breeze filled with the promise of rain. The creatures either hadn't noticed them or didn't consider them a priority. She waited until they had vanished around a corner before quietly whistling the all-clear.

In the shadows her group reassembled. She took up her place at the rear, alongside an older man carrying a shotgun. She'd rather he took point, but understood the group leader's logic: they would hear an approach from behind, but should they run into the aliens head-on it would be advantageous for the only gun in the group to be out of reach.

It was only a few minutes later when she heard the hiss from behind her. "Run!" she screamed. She hadn't turned around yet, but she knew immediately what was behind her and was aware that her moment had come. She tore off her pack and tossed it as gently as she could manage away from the fight. At the sound of her cry people turned around to look and she saw their faces blanch in horror as she spun to meet her fate.

These were the rules. Two fighters from the perimeter would break away and try to hold off the Wraith long enough for the others to escape. She heard the roar of the shotgun beside her and yelled for the man to get behind her.

Three of the things wore those masks and held stunners. The other two stood proud and exposed in the scattered moonlight. One of them, the dark-veined one, dripped dark blood from a tear in his coat.

Thora hefted her staff. This was the moment, she knew. This would be how she died. She wondered briefly which of them it was going to be, then decided it really didn't matter.

Their standoff felt eternal, but something told her it was only a few seconds.

"What do you plan to do?" This from the one with the smooth hair.

She shrugged. "What I can."

"There is no hope." He smiled, a sharp-toothed grimace that flashed in the dark. "I am your death."

She smiled back. "I'm already dead."

With that she charged him. In an ordinary situation it was perhaps the stupidest thing she could do. There was no way for her to survive. Luckily for her, that wasn't part of the plan.

The first blow she landed was pure luck. He hadn't expected the rush, but after he repelled her he was ready. He attempted to circle her, but she was having none of it. She couldn't allow him to get around her, not yet. Even running at their fastest, the group couldn't have managed more than a block by now.

He snarled and sprang at her. Again the shotgun went off, spinning him around on his face. His place was taken by the taller Wraith. He was bulkier than his parter, clearly the stronger of the two. It didn't bode well. The hulking masked creatures advanced on her backup.

_C'mon, Thora_, she said to herself. _All you've gotta do is stay alive for a few minutes. Surely you can manage that._ She squared her shoulders. He struck first, quick as a viper.

Block. Block. Thrust. Duck. _Crunch_. She saw stars and stumbled when his fist struck her temple. Oh, this was no good. Black oblivion tried to suck her down, and Thora crumpled to her knees. She'd never been in so much pain in her entire life.

It was the final shotgun blast and the scream of her comrade that jerked her back to consciousness, shaky and slanted as it was. She could almost feel sections of her skull sliding around in there, and she couldn't see out of one eye. A sticky substance coated the side of her face. She was bleeding profusely.

Where her only other line of defense had been was a withered husk. The lithe one was straightening up.

One drunken step after another took her toward the Wraith that had hit her. He monitored her progress, just waiting. Apparently he hadn't gotten enough entertainment out of the screaming multitudes. When she forced herself upright and lifted her staff again something flashed in his eyes. Sort of a surprise coupled with bewilderment.

Thora smiled through the blood in her mouth. _What, they didn't think we'd fight?_

On her wrist her watch alarm went off suddenly, beeping shrilly in the silence. Relief tore through her. It was over. It was all over. She hoped that her group had made the 'gate, but even if they hadn't there was nothing left for her to do. Her pain was over, the crushing loss of loved ones a mere memory. Soon she would be joining them in painless oblivion.

Still glaring into the lead Wraith's slitted eyes, she tossed her staff away. It landed with an unimportant clatter on the pavement.

"You surrender, human?" he hissed. "Too weak to carry on?"

Fear was gone, replaced by a serenity she'd only dreamed of. "It's over."

He was about to say something else, perhaps taunt her some more, when the explosion ripped through the city. Fire rose in a column behind her and illuminated her world for the last time. He and his fellow Wraith watched it, wide-eyed. When the glow faded they looked at her.

"What has happened?" the leader snarled at her.

"The 'gate is destroyed," she told him. He could see as much for himself.

He strode to her and lifted her up by her shirt. Hot pain flashed through her head again. "Where are they?" His roar hurt her ears.

"I don't know. Nobody does." Her head was reeling. Blurs of color flashed behind her eyes, tinged with contentment and regret. "They never told us, O Captain My Captain."

He dropped her. She crumpled to her knees. Gods, she was so dizzy. Darkness tugged at her again. Why was she even awake? The question was answered as he kicked her over onto her back. Right. She was still alive. She watched him kneel beside her, hand brandished, and felt nothing but sweet relief. She frowned. There was something...she'd forgotten...

"Wait," she whispered. "My cat."

He snarled. "Your what?"

She pointed in what she hoped was the direction of her pack. She could hear poor Guy mewing in terror. Hopefully it wasn't pain. She couldn't help him anymore. "My friend. He's in...that. Let him out after you kill me. He'll die in there."

Another confused look. She reached up to touch his splayed hand in supplication. "Please."

***

The human wasn't begging for its life. Nor was it despairing under pain of death. He could feel its life slipping away. The blow to its head was mortal. And yet it wanted him to aid an insignificant, whining creature it had somehow cared enough about to save.

In its eyes he had seen a blazing passion, an inferno of rage and hatred. Beneath it all was the usual fear. He understood now that it had felt no fear for itself, but the others it had been protecting. It hadn't expected to survive their encounter. All it had wanted was to keep them at bay until its charges were safe and the 'gate destroyed.

Behind the creature's bizarre eyes was pain, so much pain. Its consciousness had already begun to flicker. All that was keeping it breathing now was its desire to see its friend safe. And it would take his word on whether the thing was done.

Honor. It gave him honor.

He nodded and the creature sighed, somehow happy. It stopped squeezing his fingers and instead drew his feeding hand down onto its own sternum.

In its mind was a vista of sunlight and a tree—a cherry blossom tree, he read from her thoughts. This close to her he couldn't maintain the conscious distance he usually imposed. This human was female. Its boughs spread above her, showering her with sweet scents and soft petals. Then the beach, with its warm water lapping over her feet, the sunset catching the churning waves aflame along the horizon. He saw the first time she'd mated with a human male, all fear buried by a trust in the gleaming eyes above her. The image was confused, rippled, and his own eyes glowed down at her. She frowned in confusion, but accepted it.

She was drifting but aware enough to feel her breath hitch in her chest. He remembered with her the moment of her grandmother's death. She'd been holding the woman's hand and staring into sightless eyes as the torturous slow breaths had dragged in and out before her body released her spirit: one....two...three....the inestimable periods between were a burden on the girl beneath him. She'd wished for this old woman to be free. Now she wished to be free.

The second ragged breath rattled into her lungs and out again.

She anticipated the third, secure in the knowledge that, like her grandmother, the third breath would be drawn and never released. It was her herald. Her agony would end and she would die in calm and joy. Somehow he was included in that. He was cause of her death, and she thanked him for it.

This had never happened before. He didn't understand this human's mind. The images were fading, bleeding into nothingness, and he felt that fabled third breath enter her body. As she'd expected her life slid free. It slipped through his fingers and left him looking down and the broken corpse of the strangest human he'd ever encountered.

His hand was still poised on her chest. His second-in-command stood at his shoulder, just as rattled as himself. The strength of the visions had sucked him under and he had been unable to keep from dragging the other Wraith along. He knew what he meant to do. With a new resolution he spread his hand on her chest again and _pushed_.

From her mind he heard the roar of a thunderstorm. She was on a porch surrounded by trellises vined with moonflowers, sitting beside her mother. "Don't be afraid of the thunder, Thora," he heard. "It's what you're named for." He forced her back into unconsciousness before her eyes could flutter open.

Named for thunder, he breathed. Her spirit sparked under his hand. "We take her," he told his second.

"Naturally" was the response he received. His second picked up her pack with the trapped organism still inside. It fought furiously and hissed.

He himself lifted the unconscious human. The two retraced their path toward their ship.


	2. Whispers in the Dark

Thora woke slowly. Her head was on fire. Groaning, she lifted a shaking hand to her temple. Dried blood was crusted in her hair. Her eyes opened to dim blue light.

She tilted her head slowly, not willing to risk sitting up just yet. A furry warmth at her side told her Guy was curled up beside her on the floor.

Bars. There were bars across from her, uneven and of an unfamiliar construction. To one side she saw a bowl of water and some porridge-looking material. From the splatters around the dish she gathered Guy had already sampled the local fare, and smiled. She was glad he was alive, and happier still that he was with her. Close by was another bowl, this one with the edges of a cloth poking over the rim. _To wash off the blood_, she thought grimly.

How was she alive? Her hand wandered across her chest. The grooves in her skin told her that the Wraith's hand had indeed been on her. Grimacing, she suddenly hit upon the answer. She'd died before he could feed. He had hesitated. She remembered dying, the soothing blackness swallowing her up. She hadn't been alone for the journey. For some reason he'd ridden along with her. And so here she was.

She took a long, shaking breath. And then wondered how it was possible that she was breathing air. Surely it was a massive coincidence that she would require the same combination of gases as an alien race from who-the-hell-knew-where (_Pegasus_, she reminded herself)? Then she laughed. Here she was, a survivor of an alien attack on Earth, in a cell on a ship capable of intergalactic travel populated by a group of life-draining space vampires, and she was puzzled by the presence of clean, breathable air? Stranger things had happened.

In the darkness she heard weeping. She was alone in her cell and could see no others, but from down the hall sounds of fear echoed up to reach her. Still woozy and strange-feeling, she did the only thing she could think of.

She sang a lullaby her mother had once sung to her. She had no idea what to say to the stranger, whose face she'd likely never see. No words of comfort would be enough. Her voice, cracked and shaking, slipped through the bars and down the hall to let her fellow prisoner know he wasn't alone. The sobs quieted to sniffles.

As she sang Thora reviewed her predicament. Amazingly she still felt no fear. It was strange to be alive. All there was to do was sing and eventually die the death her captor had, for whatever reason, chosen to deny her. The prospect was peaceful. She stroked Guy's furry side and he rewarded her with a purr.

When the lullaby finished she switched to an old spiritual she liked. Another tremulous voice joined hers in broken harmony and she smiled.

Footsteps. The other voice stopped just as suddenly as it had started, and she heard scuffling as the other prisoners hurried away from the bars. She didn't stop, though. There was no reason. Death would find her whether she sang or not; or, just maybe, it would follow the tones of her voice and come sooner. Either way didn't matter much to her. It was coming, one way or another, and she welcomed it.

The sound of boots grew louder and ground to a halt in front of her cell. She didn't open her eyes until she'd finished her song, a small smile on her lips.

Just outside stood the Wraith that had given her back her life. On his home turf he looked taller and more intimidating. He was watching her intently.

Thora gave him a wry grin. He was the very picture of both composure and a heavy burden. It reminded her of a poem, for some reason. "O Captain, my Captain," she said. Shock, she decided. This comfortable numbness was definitely shock.

"What is this you call me?" Oh, they hadn't captured the strange tones of Wraith voices exactly. It was like a heavy purr, and it made her head feel fuzzier.

"It's the title of a poem I'd always meant to read but never got around to." She laughed sadly to herself. "Suppose it doesn't matter much now, though."

"Why do you call me so?" This was spoken more softly.

"You remind me of poetry and regret," she told him honestly, "and that's what it made me think of." He was a predator, _her_ predator, but when speaking civilly with him it was difficult to keep that little tidbit in mind. Did that make him more or less frightening? Food for thought. "Have you come to kill me, my Captain?"

He bared his teeth with a hiss. "No."

Thora looked back up at her ceiling. "Pity."

"For such a fierce warrior," and here his tone was mocking, "you have lost your spirit quickly."

"You said something like that earlier, didn't you? Wait, no, your friend. Anyway, as I told him, I'm already dead. I'm just waiting for it to kick in."

"You have no desire for your life?"

"What life?" She laughed at him. "No home, no family, no loved ones. When I fought you I was expecting to die. Wishing for it, really." Frowning, she looked back at him. "Why didn't you kill me, anyway?"

Captain was still. So still. "You were not afraid."

"We covered that already. I want to die. I want to see my family again. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Why are you so certain you will be reunited with your brethren?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "It helps. And if I'm wrong, if death is just a void, I won't be any the wiser."

"Ah," he said. For a time he stood quietly, watching her as she watched him. His hair was coarse, unlike the curtain of swaying silver the other Wraith had. Just at the edges of his left eye she could see the jagged black lines of a tattoo. "What is that creature in there with you?"

"A cat. I tried to tell you after you whacked me."

He bristled. "You attacked me."

"And you let me live." Despair snaked into her voice. Thora felt her lip tremble. To counter it she started singing. This time it was "Blue on Black," which her father had loved to listen to.

Captain remained for a while, just listening to her, but eventually walked quietly away from her. She knew her voice traveled with him down the hall, haunting his steps.

Once she was sure he'd gone she struggled to a sitting position. It set her head to swimming and she sucked in a breath. "Oooh, owie." Gingerly she got to her feet and stumbled over to the bowl of water. It was still warm to the touch. Bathing her head didn't sting as she'd thought it might. Once she'd scrubbed away the layers of gore she realized that her wound was gone, though a rib of scar tissue remained just at her hair line. She followed the ridge, feeling its density. It had been one hell of a blow. She hadn't just been concussed. He'd given her a full-on fracture. No wonder she'd been so wonderfully delirious. But if it was healed, why was her head hurting?

Again her eyes went to the porridge-stuff. Guy had the right idea. Thora was hypoglycemic, and hadn't eaten at all during their ill-fated trek. She also had no clue how long she'd been knocked out. What she was feeling was just a migraine because she hadn't been able to eat.

After she'd finished swallowing down most of the tasteless goop and chased it with some water she brought the bowl over to Guy so he could lick it clean. He did, too, his tiny pink tongue frantic. Poor thing had been ravenous. While he munched she checked him over. He had no signs of injury, which was nothing short of miraculous. When he'd finished she took the bowl back over to the bars and laid down again. He curled up by her ear, and the thunder of his purr lulled her to sleep.

Over the next few days her life, such as it was, assumed a pattern. In the maybe-mornings a drone bearing two bowls and a clean latrine bucket would unlock her cell, whisk away the old ones, and stomp away. Twice more he would appear, bearing more glop. Thora's cell started to reek a little. Guy had chosen himself a corner (luckily close to the bars and away from her makeshift coat-bunk) as his litter box. She could use her dirty bowls as a sort of scoop when he did this, but it didn't help the pungent stink of urine. She didn't really mind. She didn't keep track of the cycle of days either. It didn't matter, and she didn't care.

Sometimes she would hear heavy boot steps outside and the clank of a cell being opened. Sometimes they screamed. Every now and again they'd pray. Afterward, not knowing what to say, they would sing softly into the dark.

Captain would come by sometimes, silent, probably just to make sure she was alive. Perhaps ten people had died before he spoke to her. She recognized the thumping cadence of his feet, almost as heavy as a drone's.

"O Captain, my Captain," she said by way of greeting. It had become a ritual between them. "Have you come to kill me today?"

He surprised her with words. "No," he said. His voice still possessed that strange hypnotic power. _Well, why not? Snakes hypnotize birds._ "Not today."

"And what's wrong with today?"

Grim silence followed. He didn't break it. She looked over at him, stared into his slitted yellow eyes without fear. It was clear he expected her to break the connection, but she didn't. Just blinked and continued to stare. Maybe he'd perceive it as a challenge and finally attack.

He was the one who looked away. His eyes fell from hers down to her chest. For a moment she was puzzled, wondering why he had any interest in her breasts, before realizing that it was the scars of his hand print with which he was so absorbed .

She looked down at it too. It spanned nearly her entire chest, from fingerprint to fingerprint. His hands were massive. Down the center was a thick red weal where the slit for his feeding organ had been. She ran a finger over the mark and barely felt the contact. Nerve damage. Maybe it wouldn't hurt when he sucked the life back out of her through the same opening.

For the first time in his presence she stood. He was perhaps a full foot and a half taller than her, she noted as she approached the bars. After a second of hesitation she reached out to him. When he didn't pull away or grab her arm she laid her hand on his hard chest, just where the wound was on her own. She had no idea why, but it seemed like a good idea. He looked down at her hand, then back at her. His head rolled to one side, inquisitive.

"Why?" It was all she said, but it covered everything. Why had he saved her? Why wouldn't he kill her now? Why was she here? For that matter, why did she still have Guy?

"Indeed," he replied.

Thora frowned. Did that seriously mean what she thought it meant? Was a fucking Wraith confused about his own motives? That was almost laughable. Or rather, it would have been if it didn't mean her death was delayed.

***

He watched the flicker of uncertainty over her face. She was an observant little thing, he reflected. Skimming her expression, he was satisfied she'd adequately grasped his conundrum.

So strong, yet she yearned for death. So powerful, but with self-imposed weakness. It was an odd conflict to have.

His eyes drifted again to the marks on her chest. For his people it was an honor to bear such a scar. When exchanged between Wraith it meant _Brother, you are worthy enough in my estimation that I will sacrifice my health for your life._ The recipient Wraith meant enough that the giver would willingly subject himself to the hunger that bit so hard at them. Upon a worshiper it said _You possess more than passive usefulness._ On a random human it was more complicated. It signified a bridge between the two species. Prey was no longer prey. Something within the human had proved worthy. Something within her, specifically.

There was a reason. His problem was that he did not understand it. Emotional impressions were all that answered his demand for logic. No hard-and-fast thoughts came at his command.

It was the depth of her eyes. The image of cherry blossoms stretching on and on in her vision after she had become blind to the mortal world. How she'd marshaled the strength to ask him to care for her pet. That she'd thought enough of his honor to ask. Even in the darkness of the holding chamber she amazed him. Singing to the bleating prey to soothe them.

Her name for him, the reasons behind it, and the way she said it.

This human, Thora, was not ordinary. Probably not even sane. Earth humans were different from the ones they fed on in the Pegasus Galaxy. Perhaps that accounted for the difference, but he didn't believe it. His second was stumped by her too. Not so much as himself, but what his second had experienced had been a hollow mimicry.

The small animal padded up to the bars, twining his little body around Thora's ankles. He saw her shoulders relax a fraction at the furry contact. Her eyes still bored into his and her hand remained, a warm weight, on his chest. "Why do you keep that creature?"

She blinked at him. "He's my friend. When I took him in I promised him I'd always make sure he was provided for."

Ah. A chink, then. "Is he aware of your oath?"

"Of course not. He doesn't speak English. How you manage is beyond me."

"Then why do you honor it? He is a food animal."

"Just because I theoretically _could_ eat him doesn't mean I will. I mean, technically, so are you."

He scoffed, actually affronted. "_I_, a prey animal?" This was so insulting he was sorely tempted to grant her wish and drain her, connection or no.

She shrugged. "Why not? This is flesh I feel, isn't it?" The smile she gave revealed her sharp teeth.

He knew humans fed on the flesh of animals, most often after subjecting it to heat for a period of time. Until just now he'd honestly never made the connection. From her mind he received an image of Thora tearing meat from a long, white bone with her sharp little teeth. In the memory her hands were clumsy and chubby, and he knew she had been a child. Before him now she was clearly adult, and the implication was clear: she'd lived off of flesh since she was too small to understand what it was, and only chance had kept it from being Wraith. What was meat could always be food. And he was meat.

He shook himself. He'd gotten sidetracked. "How do you intend to keep your promise, then, if you die?"

Thora sighed and dropped her hand. Crouching, she picked up the strange creature and held him on her shoulder. When she straightened she said, "I'd hoped I could convince one of the people I ran with to care for him. Maybe one of the humans you keep around here would be willing? I mean, since you would be the reason I was dead, after all."

"Presumably."

This made her check. "I would appreciate if it was you."

"Why is this?"

She looked at him. No human had ever looked him directly in the eye as often and willingly as she did. Even the worshipers skirted his gaze. "Because I know you'd keep your word. And I'd like to see a familiar face."

"I am hardly friend to you."

The smile she gave was pained, sickly, and amused at the same time. "You're the person I know best in the world."

_The world_ was a short-sighted addition, but he knew what she meant. He wondered what it was, briefly, to know only one's captor well. The loss of his hive and his fellow Wraith was painful to contemplate. More painful still would be her predicament. He felt sympathy for her, an all-but-foreign emotion. To feel it for fellow Wraith implied that they were weak and thus beneath notice. For a human, it was practically unknown.

In her arms the creature yawned, putting large, pointed fangs clearly on display. It was a predator. And yet she held it, stroked it with affection. The thing bit at her fingers, but she payed it no heed.

"It bites you," he pointed out. When she remained still he pressed, "You will do nothing?"

"Of course not. Little nips are a sign of affection." She scratched its tiny head and it cuddled closer, giving off that rumbling noise he'd heard it make during previous visits.

"What is that growl it makes?"

"He's purring. Means he's happy, usually." Thora looked at the thing, love clearly in her eyes. "Sometimes he does it if he's scared, but he's not easily frightened."

_Like his companion_, he mused. It was strange that she could care so much about this diminutive carnivore. He still couldn't understand why she didn't eat it. It was smaller, and with those teeth clearly would compete with her for nourishment. Did it captivate her as she did him? Was she merely trying to figure out the inner workings of its primitive mind?

There was another chamber deeper in the hive where he was considering placing her. Held within it were other females from the latest cull who, for one reason or another, other Wraith thought would make good candidates for worshipers. They were strong in body and competent, but would be easy enough to break. Females were preferred, given their innate kind natures and compassion; they became more easily attached to Wraith than the males. Of course, he'd never enrolled humans from a planet culled to its bedrock before; their fear and anger might prove troublesome.

He hadn't yet, and might not. With her reluctance to live he couldn't see her relishing her tasks. It was difficult to imagine her mending clothing or assisting in the bathing chamber. Likely she'd pester his brethren until one of them finally gave her what she wanted. Taking her on as a personal worshiper was another consideration, but he was unsure whether she'd agree, and he was unwilling to break her with the enzyme at present.

Thora's pet started squirming in her arms and she set him down. He scampered over to her food dish and began to lap up the vestiges of her provisions. "You allow it to eat your food?" he asked, incredulous. Deeper and deeper became the strangeness.

"Of course. What else is he gonna eat? No rats in space."

A brush against his mind told him he was needed elsewhere. "I will return in the future," he said to her, and left.


	3. Red Sky In Morning

The falling characters cast strange shadows against the hard, rugged planes of his face. In the dimness of his command suite, with its quiet terminals and soothing solitude, he would generally be quite relaxed as he perused the reports from his hive and the status reports from others in the alliance. Unfortunately the data bursts from other parts of the galaxy were troubling indeed.

It seemed Earth-born humans were more aggressive than anticipated. During the destruction and mass culling, many hives had experienced widespread personnel losses. Casualties were not unusual, but the losses for some of his fellow commanders numbered in the hundreds. Once the element of surprise had been exhausted their prey had rallied to great effect; darts were brought down and several cruisers had been shot out of the sky. The densely populated planet had possessed a vast military force.

He had suspected this, of course. Every social group had warriors, and larger groups had larger armies. He had voiced his concerns both to his queen and the Primary, but had been disregarded. Losses were unfortunate but necessary. Their numbers and advanced technology would win the day, and in the end they had. Still, it chafed at him the way these younger generations would throw bodies at a problem with no regard for the preservation of life.

The Primary had informed him that it mattered little, as there were simply too many hungry mouths to feed. To secure a steady food supply for herself, she was willing to engineer losses where there need be none. He understood the cold practicality of this, but wondered if she grasped that this was not some insignificant skirmish. Should they play their cards badly, Wraith would be hunted to extinction. Numbers had once been their saving grace, and would be again. Sustaining those numbers was crucial. It was why he had participated in the culling of Earth.

He growled softly to himself. The younger Wraith, those who had not slogged through the interminable Lantean War or who had come in on the tail end just prior to their victory, languished now in a glut of arrogance. There was no convincing them of their vulnerability. They were Wraith, they were eternal, and many of them were damnably foolish. He pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the threatening headache.

Even now, the scourge of the Earth-born continued. The captive humans were fighting as best they could. Many hives had put groups of humans together in the cells rather than cocooning them. They wanted fresh prey for as long as possible, an indulgence he himself would not permit. Drones were attacked and killed in the short-term holding cells. Their killers didn't even bother with an escape attempt. The humans merely stared out through the bars when the corpses were discovered, as though daring their captors to come inside. One commander combated this by stunning all the occupants of a given cell when one of the captives was to be removed.

Suicide was reaching plague proportions. When the second commander of another hive had gone to retrieve a human for interrogation, he discovered all the humans dead in the cell. Most had used belts or shoelaces to achieve their goal, but further reports from other commanders told of desperate individuals choking themselves on the cell bars.

Several humans had been added to the ranks of worshipers all over the alliance. These reports he gave special attention, and was immensely glad he'd kept those he hoped to employ quarantined. One hive had expanded their corps of worshipers by thirty. The new additions had been reverential and generally well-behaved. Two days later they staged a bloody coup. It ended ultimately in failure, but they managed to kill several high-ranking officers.

The Primary's hive had skipped directly to use of the enzyme in order to control them. Their violent inclinations came out against their comrades. When one of the new worshipers dropped the Primary's linens and was subsequently punished for it, she blinded the head worshiper with a punch knife.

Battles of rank were fairly common as the humans tried to adapt themselves to the ways of their masters, either out of an instinct for survival or desire for emulation; which one depended on their willingness to serve and whether they were addicted to the enzyme. Aboard the ships where they chose to cooperate, the freshest additions rose quickly to power by virtue of brutality. Most disputes among worshipers were settled politically, alliances formed and dissolved, the balance shifting according to who was deemed favored by their masters. Some of the former Milky Way residents adhered to this precedent. The others fought their way to the top with fists and well-concealed weapons.

Concern for worshipers was never at the top of his list, particularly in wartime, but this was perturbing. They performed essential functions among the crew. Domestic considerations were under their purview. Some performed acts of espionage. When absolutely vital, they were the emergency food supply. Most important in his mind, however, was their aid in relaxing the crew. Wraith were combative at the best of times. Sexually frustrated Wraith males were downright dangerous. Females were favored because of their sympathetic natures, and the tender feelings they experienced as a byproduct of the joining were a boon. Trustworthy servants were vital.

He growled again. Thora's words to him held deeper meaning than he'd suspected. He had been thinking more about her individual nature and less about population-wide characteristics. He had also been arrogant and foolish. These were not prey humans. They did not cower behind closed doors with one eye on the sky and ears ever vigilant for the howl of darts. Still worse, he'd heard rumors about the differences between the New Lanteans and Pegasus natives. He had known, but hadn't been prepared to admit.

Luckily his hive had fared better. He considered briefly adding his observations, detailing the conversations with Thora which might have some benefit. His fingers were poised to record whatever scrap of information could be helpful, but he found himself rapping out his method of separating the prisoners, isolating the potential worshipers, and cocooning the rest. Nothing he wrote was anything more than common sense. He did not even allude to Thora's existence. As he sent the message, he refused to ruminate on his unwillingness to enlighten the others. They needed to learn such wisdom on their own, anyway.

He sensed his Second approaching. The other Wraith waited respectfully in the open doorway. He nodded briefly, and his officer approached. He could feel the other's unease. "I take it you've read the reports?"

Silken hair reflected the blue light as the Second nodded. "Indeed. I found them most...disconcerting."

The Commander inclined his head in accord. "And yet fitting. Arrogance was the downfall of our enemies, and it seems it is to be ours as well."

"Not all of us," said the Second quietly.

He gave a tight smile. The two of them had worked together during the Lantean War, both commanders in their own right. In the aftermath they had been allies. Each of them had lost their original hives, and his Second assumed command of a hive of younger Wraith. He himself had managed to control this one, a hive of veterans. When his Second's hive mutinied he had barely escaped with his life, and fled to his closest ally. Since that time, centuries ago now, they had served together and complimented each other well. Trust was a rare commodity these days, and theirs was implicit.

This was how he knew that his Second resented terribly the Primary's reticence to allow him his own hive. He would not take from the Commander, his friend and ally, but he was wasted on anything else but high command. The Commander also chafed under the yoke of the alliance. Despite his past actions in the war that nearly drove their species to the brink, despite his experience, despite his qualifications, his hive was one of the lowest in the alliance.

Both of then disagreed with the methods of the Primary. They'd been quick to join what had been, at the time, the winning side. This faction was the largest of its kind. After five years, it had become painfully obvious that their success had been a matter of luck and numbers. As time went on, lack of foresight was whittling those numbers down. They engaged in battle over territories when just running off the rival hive would suffice. During cullings, warriors went out on foot when it was unnecessary to do so. Fights of succession made many the victims of ambition.

In the glory days, the queens and commanders collaborated. She was always the head of the hive, but the commander served as her warlord and tactician. She would follow his recommendations, weigh his words. He mattered. Their queen had perished shortly after they joined the alliance, killed by the Primary four years ago. She had been one of the Commander's contemporaries, had in fact been his queen since the end of the Lantean War. The Primary had replaced her with an eager young creature more intent on solidifying her position than ruling her hive. This queen wanted prestige and influence. The Commander and his Second had managed to keep their contempt for her silent. Others had their reservations as well, but what could they do? Assassination would result in the destruction of the hive and all those aboard. Until the opportunity presented itself, they would keep these thoughts to themselves.

It had never been formally discussed, but the Commander intended to head up his own alliance. If they could make personal allies among the other Wraith, it would be possible to overthrow the Primary and murder his queen in one fell swoop. His Second would once again have his own hive, and the two of them would be at the helm as they were meant to be.

This intent passed between them a moment, lingering in the air like fine smoke before dispersing into business. "Our methods for dealing with our cargo will remain unchanged?" the Second asked.

"I see no reason to alter our course," the Commander replied. "Nothing unusual has happened."

"And the new worshipers?"

He hesitated. He preferred them willing. It was possible to make a slave of even the most virulently hateful humans, but he found it vulgar and off-putting. "We will continue to monitor them. Their manners seem agreeable, but I will not leave it to chance."

The Second nodded again.

A crushing sensation began at his temples. The Queen was summoning him. He snarled. This crude method left no doubts about her respect for him. "You're dismissed," he hissed.

The other Wraith tightened his lips, knowing his Commander's destination. He stepped aside and bowed his head as the Commander swept out of the room.

***

"Kneel." Her execrable voice echoed in the confines of his skull. The grip of her consciousness was like a vise around his. He tamped down his burning desire to resist and complied with her order. Kneeling was not in his nature.

The Queen was lean and moved languidly in her floor-length dress. White hair cascaded to her waist. Her eyes were a sharp gold framed by lush white lashes, the uptilt at the corners giving her an enticing exotic look. She would have been lovely if he didn't despise her.

She stroked his cheek with the back of her feeding hand, then traced the pattern of his tattoo with the sharp tip of her finger guard. Training kept him from flinching from her cool skin. He trained his gaze on the floor of her chambers. "Tell me of the humans."

"We have avoided the problems that plague other hives in the alliance thus far. I ordered them to be kept separated and their weapons taken from them."

"Good." She stalked behind him and began petting his hair. "And the worshipers?"

"They are under quarantine until I can be certain they will present no threat." Her voice was too sweet. It would not last. He braced himself.

The fist came as expected, knotting itself in the hair at the nape of his neck and forcing his head backward until his eyes met hers. A rivulet of blood crept down into his collar. "And why," she hissed, "have you not broken them?"

"My queen," he purred, "are you not so strong that you prefer respect to fear?"

With a snarl she shoved him to the floor. When he tried to rise she straddled his hips, forced his face onto the cold carapace, and brought her lips to his ear. The puff of breath over his nose was sour. "Respect is a human notion. And twice the weakling are you, trying to gain respect from humans."

"Not at all," he managed. "Surely you noticed that even the broken humans became violent."

"Then we shall feed on them. Have them cocooned."

Her fingers were still digging into him, one hand on his neck and the other curled around the wrist of his feeding hand. For once she was awaiting his rebuttal. "They would be assets. One is a healer, the others are young and would be easy to mold."

The Queen hissed her assent. Her grip tightened, and he realized this was not her reason for summoning him. "What of the human in the holding cells that you have reserved?" The final word was dragged out into a growl.

The footing along this path was precarious. Was his curiosity worth the risk? "I was considering," hedged the Commander, "of taking her as a personal worshiper." With great effort he kept the Gift he'd given Thora from his mind.

His arm was wrenched behind his back. Pain exploded from shoulder to wrist. "Were you?" she asked conversationally. "Without my approval?"

"She must be monitored. I wanted to be certain she was worth mentioning before troubling you with such a trifling matter."

The stroke to her ego had its desired effect. She released his arm, though she did not rise or let go of his neck. "Ah, consideration for your queen." Her touch on the back of his head this time was gentle. "When next we speak of this matter, I expect it to be resolved. Or you will break them. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my queen."

***

He snarled to himself as he prowled the corridors. How he loathed that despicable harridan. Like any young, status-obsessed queen she placed far too much emphasis on trivial matters and too little on real concerns. She should have been plotting the Primary's overthrow, given her sloppy rule. She should have been discussing reports with him, debating over tactics and courses of action. Instead she had put his face to the floor over _worshipers_, of all things. How that could take precedence over military concerns he would never understand. This war with the New Lanteans could grow to the same proportions as the first Great War, and yet she was content to float here in space and fret about their human servants?

Their victory over Earth was not something to sit back and be smug about. The New Lanteans were resourceful and could be ruthless. Earth had been their home, the point to which they could retreat. With it destroyed they would be vengeful and desperate, and far greater in number. The planet had been home to billions. Even if every hive ship in the galaxy stuffed its holds and cells full to bursting, they could not contain them all. No scouting missions had been scheduled, though their need to ascertain the newly-increased size of their enemy was pressing. He had requested one, but the Queen had laughed at him rather than contact the Primary. His hands were tied.

It wasn't until he saw the bars of the cell that he realized his feet had taken him to Thora rather than his quarters.

She was in her customary position, flat on her back with her feet propped up on the wall, staring at the ceiling. Today her feet were bare. He blinked. He did not often see human feet, and her rounded toes and blunt nails were very odd-looking. He frowned.

"Oh Captain, my Captain," she quoted without looking up from the string draped around her hands, "have you come to kill me today?"

"I have not," he muttered, distracted. Her toenails were red. He sniffed, scenting for blood.

"Dude, I haven't had a bath in a week. Don't judge." Grey eyes peered sidelong at him.

"Are you injured?"

"Am I excuse me?" She followed his gaze back to her feet. "Oh, no. That's just nail polish." Her attention returned to the tangled string looped around her fingers. Her shoes lay near the bars, bereft of laces. He watched her fumble with the pattern. A quick movement with her thumbs, the drop of a loop and... "Ta-da!" she exclaimed. The string had formed itself into a cup and saucer.

It was difficult not to smile at her exuberance. If nothing else, she was a welcome distraction. "Indeed," he rumbled. "I shall put out a bulletin to inform all of your exceptional skills."

Her jaw dropped and she faced him fully. "Did you seriously just make a joke?"

"Surely you were aware Wraith have a sense of humor."

"You know, I guess it just escaped my notice." She sat up and folded her legs, tossing her tangled-up shoe laces on her backpack. "Is something wrong?"

He opened his mouth to reply but had no idea what to say. It was the first time in a long while he'd heard the question asked so frankly, and with reference to himself alone, by anyone other than his Second.

"Did you know when you're pissed off, you get this little crease between your...well, not eyebrows, but...brow ridge, maybe? Whatevs, right here." She indicated the spot on her own face.

"I was unaware," he confessed. After a moment he added, "The Queen and I have had a...minor disagreement."

She sucked in a breath. "Ouch."

He flexed his right wrist. Thankfully it was no longer tender. The pain was negligible, but the insult smarted. "Yes."

"Over what?"

For a moment he actually thought about telling her. Instead he chuckled. "You are sly, aren't you, human."

She shrugged and gave him a little half-smile. "Worth a shot, right?"

He nodded once.

A silence descended, as it always did when they turned to business. "When am I getting out of here?" she asked softly.

_Sooner than you wish_, he thought. A half-lie is what he gave her. "Soon." Quiet as the breeze, he inclined his head to her and retreated to his quarters.

***

Thora padded to the bars and craned her neck to glare at his departing back. "People come and go so quickly here," she whispered to herself. Shaking her head, she went back to her place near the center of the cell and put her feet up on her bookbag.

The old Jansport was a bit worse for wear but holding together well. It had been searched for weapons. The butterfly knife which, in retrospect, she probably should have had on her during the attack was gone, as was her Gerber utility knife. Even her pens and nail file had been removed. The photo album was untouched, thankfully, as was her grandmother's jewelry.

The oddest things had become important when she was throwing her bag together. None of her clothes had made it in. Nor had her iPod, CDs, or books. The lack of reading material was infuriating, but what she had taken was more vital. She had taken memories. The album, her mother's baby book, hand-drawn portraits of her siblings, a tatted snowflake her grandmother had given her for Christmas the year before she died. Her grandmother's small memorial urn. Her father's pistol championship medal. An embroidery of their coat of arms. Small things, probably insignificant, definitely not practical. But she'd wanted them just the same. It made her feel better to know that they were just under her feet, although she did wish there was a way to smuggle them off the hive and to whatever family might still exist. Even giving them to a complete stranger would have been nice. A way to say "We lived, we loved," and preserve their small legacy.

She groaned quietly and closed her eyes. If she concentrated she could hear muted shuffling from other cells. The sounds came seldom now. Nobody felt much like talking, not that she'd done much to initiate conversation. The only thing she could count on to break the monotony of her own pathetic monologues were visits from Captain.

His frown moments ago was disconcerting. His imperial bearing on the rare occasions he was passed by other Wraith during his visits hinted that he was an officer, and a high-ranking one. His yellow cat eyes were sharp and alive with a myriad of thoughts, none of which she expected him to share. He was smart as a whip. Given his life expectancy, that would be to his advantage; she had no idea how long he'd lived so far, but he had the appearance of someone who played the Long Game. The looks he gave her were evaluating. If something weighed on him enough for him to walk around frowning about it, likely it was a big deal.

Given the time she had to think, it was inevitable that she would think of him often. At first she'd entertained the possibility that she might be afflicted by Stockholm Syndrome. This was quickly discarded, though. He was still a Wraith. It came down to the exchange they'd shared. She had ignored the whole "Gift of Life" blather initially, but she was beginning to wonder if there wasn't something to it. His presence was comforting. It sounded stupid and trite to her, but it felt like she'd known him for a long while. Luckily she could recognize that as a stupid thought.

She was seriously getting sick of the sound of her own voice. No footsteps were approaching, and the bit of hope that Captain would turn around and let her pester him was spent. With a heavyhearted sigh, she reached for her shoe laces again.


	4. Upon A Fevered Sea

Days passed before she saw him again. The nights, or at least the quiet periods, had become intolerably cold. Even in her jacket she shivered.

"O Captain, my Captain," she greeted him. He stood before her, resplendent in his clean clothes and smelling like sunshine. She wasn't sure how he could smell like sunshine in space, nor how light could have a smell, but deep consideration was just too much effort for her right now. Honestly, she sort of thought she was going peculiar.

_Poke. Poke. Poke._

No more screams sounded in the hall. This was a temporary holding facility, she gathered, for the immediate consumables. Others meant for storage were cocooned elsewhere and taken out when her hosts got hungry. Like fucking Spam.

Yup. Peculiar.

_Poke. Poke. Poke._

A wire had been dropped within her reach earlier today. She discovered she couldn't reach the locking mechanism. Besides, the panel was nothing she'd ever seen before. Give her a simple Craftsman any day of the week.

_Poke. Poke. Poke._

So instead of crying at the futility of it all (if she could only get out, maybe she'd piss someone off enough to feed on her) she was sitting on the floor and poking the drone stationed outside her cell just under his right kneecap. He never moved. It was fascinating. He'd relocated one door down every time someone was eaten, and evidently she was the last one left.

"How long have you been doing this?" Captain's voice drifted down to her.

"No idea."

A pause. "How many times have you done this?"

Her answer was immediate. Of course she'd been keeping count. This had to be a record on some planet. "Two thousand five hundred sixty-six." _Poke-poke_. "Sixty-eight," she amended.

"Are you...feeling well, human?"

_Poke. _"Yeah, never better. It's damn Hawaii in here, you should totally try it."

Living came with inconveniences she hadn't really thought of before. Not eating meat, for instance, was grating on her nerves. Porridge morning, noon, and night was enough to drive her insane all on its own. Hell, spinach would have been a welcome change, and she hated spinach. The lack of even the distant companionship of her co-captives was excruciating. Guy could only do so much, and he was becoming quite cranky with her for interrupting his napping schedule. Lack of physical contact was another bother. She'd taken for granted all the accidental brushes and touches she experienced throughout a day's period, not to mention the intentional ones she'd given and received. More and more she loathed this half-life thing she had going on. No purpose. No friends. No scenery. It had been easier to lay on her "bunk" and wait for Captain to come bearing sweet, sweet oblivion two weeks or years or however long ago, when it seemed so much more possible. Now she didn't think he'd ever get around to draining her. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask. "Have you come to kill me today, O Captain, my Captain?"

"No, human. Not today."

It never was. She sighed and started poking the drone in the ankle for a change of pace. Her arm was tired and achy.

"You do not have some ailment, I trust?"

_Poke. _She laughed and heard the shrill edge to it. Poor Captain. He stepped back from the bars, and she pitied him. Had he ever heard this kind of laughter? The look on his face was so terribly amusing. He, heap-big predator, sucker of life force, drainer of worlds, was _disturbed_. By _her._ Oh, it was rich. She wished she had someone to tell. They'd never believe it.

She thought of the remnants of the Shotgun Man back on Earth. She thought of regaling his breathless body with this joke of an experience. _Alas, poor Yorick. You should have had an Uzi._

Now he definitely thought she was ill. "No, not an ailment, my Captain," she wheezed. "I'm starting to lose my marbles, that's all."

If he had eyebrows they would have been raised. "What are marbles?"

She flapped a hand weakly at him. "It's an expression. My mind is going." Her body felt heavy. "I'm just gonna lay down here, 'kay?"

His head tilted to the left. It sort of made him look like a puppy. An evil puppy. "I was unaware that dementia affected young humans."

"It can. Just about anything can drive you crazy, if you let it. And in here, I've got nothing to do but let it."

"You will be moved to preserve your mental integrity."

Peals of laughter again. Oh, it hurt to laugh so much. Mental integrity, who did this joker think he was kidding? Another phrase popped into her head, and she began to wheeze.

"I can sense your skepticism, but it will be attempted."

"Oh, but my Captain," she giggled, holding one finger aloft. Aloft, what a funny, funny word. "Do you possess the testicular fortitude to come get me?"

My, he looked worried. Maybe something really was wrong with her. She certainly felt off-kilter. Kinda shaky, to be perfectly frank. And bone-weary all of a sudden. She closed her eyes.

"Human?" She didn't have the energy to look at him. "Human?" Something like panic in his voice. A woosh and clank, like her vile cage had finally opened. A cool, dry hand on her head. Oh, that felt good. "Thora." He'd never said her name before. It was kinda nice to hear, actually. Nobody had said her name in what felt like forever. She'd been afraid she would forget what it was.

Something was jostling her. Guy was going nuts over there. A jerk and a sway, then blessed darkness.

***

Thora's face was flushed and she blazed with an inner heat he knew she shouldn't have. Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned in her broken sleep. In his arms she felt like a firebrand. Humans weren't supposed to be too hot or too cold, he knew.

As he walked away her cat mewed piteously.

He bore her weight easily. She mumbled something and curled up against his chest, twining her fingers in his hair. He had saved her life once, and it was not so she could succumb to illness. However she came to drink that bitter draught she so longed to taste, it would not be through his actions or lack thereof. Should this fever suck her down, he would revive her.

The holding cell swung open with a wave of his hand. Its occupants scattered back into corners, cowering in his presence. _As it should be_. "This human is sick," he announced to them. "You will cure her." With that, he set Thora down on a ratty, patched blanket and strode out. He wanted to watch and assure himself of their competency, but they wouldn't come out of their hiding places until he'd gone. The drone would alert him when Thora was revived.

He returned to her cell to collect her cat. His approach was cautious, as he'd only observed the animal under Thora's control; for all he knew, it could be venomous.

Guy did not run from him, apparently having become inured to his presence. Picking it up immediately would frighten it. How did Thora manage? Ah, yes. Caresses pleased the little beast.

He waggled his fingers just shy of the black fur. A wet nose rewarded his efforts. He let the thing sniff him and become accustomed to his scent. Gradually he moved his fingers to seek the furry cheek. Finding it, he stroked slowly back and forth. That alien thunder rolled forth and Guy began to twine about his ankles. He seized his opportunity and placed the vibrating thing on his shoulder, as she had done. There it rested in contentment. Claws tented the material of his jacket as it sniffed and nibbled his ear.

Once the cat had been safely deposited, he ordered a worshiper to bring rations and a container of sand to his quarters. He watched it explore its surroundings, tail perpendicular and twitching with interest, before taking his leave.

***

It was while he read the daily progress reports that he received notification from the drone. Thora was stirring.

Once again the humans drew away from him, all but the dark-eyed female who knelt beside the unconscious girl. She wore a strange uniform which had once been white, but was now tattered and stained. This was the healer.

"Report," he barked. Thora's cheeks were merely rosy now, her brow smooth. Her eyelids had stopped jumping and were instead relaxed in true repose.

"Ah, her fever has come down. It'll probably break soon."

"How will I know?"

"Her, ah...she'll start to sweat. That's how you tell. They're too hot but not sweating." She moved cautiously forward. "See, here is where you can tell." The woman indicated Thora's forehead and cheeks. "The rest of her will be hot with a high fever, but you can catch even slight ones there." He touched where she pointed, familiarizing himself with her temperature and the action.

"What caused this?" Under the touch of his hand Thora shifted toward him. She was responsive again. This was good sign, though her cracked lips gave him cause for concern.

"The flu was going around before...before, but she could have picked it up from another...someone else. Where was she? Was she around others?"

Ah, this one was wily. Her question served two purposes. His answer would serve only one. "She was in isolation."

The woman slumped. "Oh," she said quietly. It took a moment for her to quash her disappointment, but when he moved she jumped and launched into rapid-fire speech.

"She needs rest. Something calming. A wash. Blankets. A lot of water. Broth for meals in case of nausea." The healer was watching him and glancing down at his right hand often. "This'll last for a few days, probably. She might get feverish again. If she gets much hotter than she was before she'll need an ice bath to bring her temperature down." More information than he needed, but whether it was to save her life or Thora's he couldn't tell.

"Is that all?"

The healer flinched. "Yes."

With a brief nod, he got to his feet and gathered up Thora, then headed to his quarters. Returning her to her cell was not possible in her current state, and the cell they'd just left didn't have the amenities she'd require to recover. And, he admitted, he found the cringing and scraping of the others tiresome.

No, he would care for her until she was well enough to be integrated into their little group. He'd neglected her needs and given no thought to her welfare. Even she, a human, could care tirelessly for the needs of a lower life form. Whether or not he chose to acknowledge the bond imposed by the Gift, it was there, and he could do better by her.

Once inside his quarters, he carefully set her on his bed. The healer had been quite correct, he decided, surveying Thora with a critical eye. She could do with a bath. He set the water to run, then returned to her side.

Her clothes were filthy, and he felt a small pang of guilt. Whatever this illness was, it had almost certainly been exacerbated by her stay in the dank, nasty cells.

Stripping her was difficult. He'd never seen catches and fastenings like the ones she wore, though once he studied them they proved simple enough to undo. Her shoes he set beside the bed, and her outer garments he tossed beside the door. The thin garment under her shirt was intensely aggravating; its catch was between her shoulder blades, and seemed determined to foil his every attempt to free the little hooks from the metal eyes. Growling in frustration, he sliced through the offending band. She could either mend it or use one of the infinitely more convenient bindings the worshipers wore, as she chose.

While he waited for the sunken tub to finish filling he summoned one of the worshipers to him. Her soft tap on his door came a mere minute after his query. Quickly he gathered up Thora's clothing, rifled the pockets, and handed the bundle out the door to the small white-clad woman waiting respectfully in the hallway. "Clean these," he instructed, "and return them. Bring me additional shifts and undergarments." The woman bowed in response. Before she took her leave, her eyes darted to the naked female sprawled on his bed and narrowed with distinct dislike.

Once the door closed, he allowed himself a brief chuckle while he turned off the water. Thora, lovely in her nakedness, laid bare in his bed, certainly gave the appearance that she was there for his entertainment. Exhaustion was plain on her face. It was an easy assumption to make, if one ignored the unhealthy pallor of the skin not flushed with fever.

He disrobed quickly before hefting her. The heat of her skin against his was disconcerting but no longer alarming, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Ever so carefully he lowered himself into the tepid water, keeping a firm hold on her lest she slip under the surface and drown. Guy emerged from the shadows and settled himself at the edge as sentinel.

The filth fairly sloughed off of her. He was glad the water was filtered and cycled; otherwise, the both of them would need a second soak. When he'd washed her as thoroughly as he could, he let down her hair. After a few lathers, he was surprised to find what he thought was chestnut was actually a dark cinnamon. _A little more red and she would look like a Keeper_, he thought as he drew a comb through the damp locks. As an afterthought he plaited it and replaced the band she'd used to secure it.

He covered her in one of his spare shirts. It hung to her knees, covering her modestly. Sometimes it astonished him how very small humans were, particularly the females. He swaddled her in his bedclothes and slid under the covers beside her. In sleepy delirium she snuggled closer to him. The pattern of scars on her chest rubbed against his arm. When he reached out to pull the covers up to her chin she let out a breathy sigh and smiled a little.

Every two hours he woke and tried to administer some water. She swallowed listlessly when he put the bottle to her lips, and he had to moisten his finger and rub it across her mouth before she would drink. Once she choked. When he rose for his duties he was exhausted. He summoned the healer to his quarters and commanded her to watch over Thora in his absence.

The healer's unasked question was stark in her eyes. _Why are you going to all this trouble for her? What is she worth to you?_ He did not dignify her with a response. He did warn her, however, that any harm that befell Thora or Guy would be taken out of her own hide. The human paled and hung her head. As he left them behind he heard her weeping tears of despair and ignored it. This would be his routine until Thora was well again.

***

Thora's world was a blur. She knew she was awake, but she couldn't make sense of anything around her. She saw a bed, had a vague impression of Guy, and a soft feminine hand on her face. When her eyes opened for any length of time she was dragged back by the relentless undertow.

Something important was happening. Something was very, very wrong. Why were they helping her? A few times she tried to open her mouth, to tell her savior not to bother, but was always shushed softly. She didn't have the energy to debate.

Shocks of color punctuated by a soothing blackness. A familiar scent in her nose, great arms cradling her and putting a bottle to her lips. She curled up in the space afforded by the curve of a warm body, not knowing or caring who it was. It was just so nice to be touched. Felt like family. Careful touches, careful fingers. The water was cool and good sliding down her throat.

Immersion. She panicked for a moment, feeling herself slip into the depths of what must have been a lake, but the arms were around her again. She relaxed, confident that the arms wouldn't drop her. Again they enfolded her and chased away her isolation.

_Nepenthe for my lost Lenore_. The phrase cantered through the uncertain passages of her mind. Death was a panacea. She wasn't sure what it meant.

_Captain. O Captain, my Captain._ Walt Whitman. Wasn't it a tragedy? She'd never read it, but she thought she remembered the beloved captain being drawn inexorably away. Shuffling off his mortal coil.

Words were power.

A fear. Heavy fear. A blanket, a wall, a veritable fortress of terror. Can't think of it. Won't.

***

Her mind was fractured with illness. Still her vision was remarkably bright and clear, calling to him as it had in the hour of her death. She was beginning to string together coherent sentences, although she couldn't hook one to another just yet.

Pure terror. She trembled against him. She suffered a loss, a fear. Finally, now, she quaked with horror. But it wasn't for herself.

She was frightened for him.

Ever so gently he probed her mind. The snatches of the poem for which she'd named him flew up readily. He could see a room with desks and chairs, the walls hard, bare blocks of an odd color. _Institution green_, he heard her think, though he had no idea what that was. This was a place of learning. Thora wasn't listening. Her feet were up on her desk, and she was skipping ahead to read something called _the Chambered Nautilus _instead of heeding her instructor.

Feeling her memories like this was so strange. In her he felt a zest for life that she lacked here in captivity. She wanted very much to be outside with her friends, running and feeling the wind against her face. Her flame had been quaffed. Pure and vital she was in her remembrance.

_O heart! heart! heart! _Something about death.

Ah, there. She'd just recalled, though she'd never read her lesson, that the Captain died on the deck of his ship just as his crew returned home victorious. It was in the unacknowledged lecture. Words held power. She dreamed that she'd consigned him to death by naming him after that ill-fated and beloved captain in the poem. And it hurt her terribly, because it was all her fault.

In her dreams he was not Wraith. He existed as an amorphous identity, the only familiar thing in the here and now.

He swam back to the surface, extricating himself with care from her mind. Feeling for a creature whose only purpose was to devour you was a significant weakness, even in fever-dreams, and he should despise her for it. But he couldn't. Sharing that emotion was...intoxicating. Its intensity had been akin to pain. Bearing it, honoring the brave enemy, casting aside fear for empathy... He couldn't call something that resounded so deeply a weakness. She could not conceive of the strength she possessed.

That was it, he realized. She was the ultimate contradiction. Strength in seeming weakness. That was why he had saved her.

Much later he woke to her stirring. She looked at him with glassy, unfocused eyes and smiled before drifting off again. He knew that he should take her back to the cell. Regaining her senses here might be a bit of a shock for her. A sheen of sweat on her skin told him her fever had broken, and the healer alone would be sufficient for her to recover now that the danger had passed.

Thora slept on as he dressed. Her old clothes and some shifts they kept on hand for worshipers were folded neatly on a corner of his desk. He dressed her and rolled the rest of them for her later use. The females in the cell surely knew he'd been tending to her, but it would make things more difficult if she were returned in his clothing rather than her own.

As he carried her to the enclosure with the sleeping humans he reflected on his revelation. The two of them stared at one another across a vast chasm, their oppositions plain and irreconcilable. Perhaps, though, they had more in common than even the most free-thinking of Wraith might admit.

He remembered talking once, long ago, with one of his contemporaries. At the time his disgust for humans had been nothing short of vitriolic, and he'd disregarded his fellow Wraith's idea that perhaps not all humans were brutish savages. Until recently he'd thought of his success and the other Wraith's fall from grace for collaborating with the New Lanteans a fair barometer by which to measure who'd been right. Now, as he lowered the still-sleeping Thora to a patchwork quilt, he was no longer so certain.


	5. Sunny Skies and Scattered Showers

Thora heard voices. Female voices_. Human _female voices. She experienced a stunning disorientation. She should be alone. Shouldn't she? Was this some kind of _Wizard of Oz_ moment, where she was about to find out she'd had an epic-level dream? She pursed her lips. Her subconscious could have at least done her the favor of letting her chill in Munchkin Land with oversized lollipops and fashionable shoes.

She didn't want to open her eyes, either way. Neither finding out that she had a terminally morbid imagination nor that the experiences of the last month or whatever had truly happened were particularly appetizing options.

A soft--and oddly familiar--hand on her brow made her sigh in frustration. Eventually she was going to have to face the music, and that moment may as well be now. She opened her eyes and blinked blearily up at the ring of female faces circling her. "Where..." Her voice cracked and she licked her lips. "Where am I?"

"Still on the ship," answered a young woman about her own age. "One of Them brought you here. Twice."

Thora wanted badly to chuckle at the audible proper noun. It seemed Captain had been at it again. She wondered if he'd wear an apron and tell her to put on a sweater "in case it got cold" if she asked him really nicely, just for kicks. The bitterness in her throat threatened to choke her. "What happened?" The last thing she recalled was the drone by her cell. Flashes like little wreathes of smoke, pale and indistinct, flitted at the edge of her memory.

This time it was an older woman who responded, and she helped Thora to sit while she did. "You had a very high fever. The thing brought you in here for me to check you over, and then back to its...room, I suppose. It had me look after you sometimes, when it left."

Thora glanced down at the woman's clothes. She was wearing a set of once-white scrubs with a pattern of cheerful daffodils and happy bumblebees. In their current circumstances, it came across as a sick mockery. A tag reading _Meredith Barnes, RN_ was pinned to her breast pocket. "Well, thanks, Nurse Barnes."

"Meredith, please," she said. "All I could really do was put cold cloths on your head and hope. They took my bag." She sounded a bit miffed about that.

Thora looked around at the others. They were, like her, definitely worse for wear. All of them were dirty and careworn. Meredith, in particular, reinforced the truth of their predicament more than their words or even the bars could have done. The laugh lines on her face were deep, and the grey in her hair should have been positively fetching framing her kind visage; she had the appearance of the kind mother from everyone's television fantasy, like she should perpetually be holding a tray of fresh-baked cookies. It was the tired fright in her eyes that made her look aged.

It took a bit to get the ball rolling on introductions. Tara Hart was the dark-haired girl who'd first spoken, a college freshman on a basketball scholarship. Hannah Jennings sat in the corner, gold curls askew over her face; she was quiet, and even in their small living space managed to avoid everyone else. Jennifer Pennington was in her thirties with a runner's tan and large brown eyes, and had once been an accountant. Sandra Bell was a little younger, nineteen, plump with a sweet face. It did not escape her notice that they were all attractive women, three soft and gentle and three hard, athletic. She wondered if that was by design, and decided it was. Captain was nothing if not tirelessly methodical. None of them were from her city. Also probably not an accident.

All of them were unwilling to speak more than she pressed them to. Despite their little sharing session--"Hi, I'm Thora Schroeder, twenty-one, RA, what's your name?"--everyone drifted off into terrified silence and stayed that way. The quiet was more pervasive and all-consuming than it had been in solitary. Six people locked together and not a sound? Six _women_, for that matter? Usually there would be some subject that could be cast upon to get everyone talking, but this time Thora could find nothing.

So she did what they did: looked everywhere but at one another. The cell was situated in the middle of the room, so they were surrounded on four sides by bars. They were of the same material as her old residence, and she'd kicked the things often enough to know that there was no breaking them, fragile as they looked. There were no dark places to hide. Two blankets had been tied up to enclose the communal latrine bucket, but it wasn't a terribly attractive cover point.

After what felt like hours of following her cell mates' example, her eyes lit upon Sandra's purse. Everyone's belongings were with them, presumably after being rifled through, except hers and Meredith's. Her backpack was likely with Captain, along with Guy--she swallowed hard and tried not to think about her cat's absence--but Meredith's had had drugs and nursing paraphernalia. While a scalpel would have been dreadfully handy right about now, what poked just out of Sandra's purse was just as useful.

"Hey, San," she called across the cell. The girl jerked and gave a horrified glance through the bars at the drone beside the door. "Oh, c'mon, he's not going to do anything." Sandra just shook her head and turned her gaze stolidly to the floor. Thora sighed and got up.

If this drone was anything like the silent one outside her old cell, she'd prove her point. If not...well, she'd reinforce their fears, but at least she wouldn't have to endure this crushing silence anymore. "Hey! Asshole! Your mother was a slutty human with rampant venereal disease!" She was now within touching distance. Just as she'd expected he did nothing but stare straight ahead. If "stare" was even the right word, what with all that bony crap over his face. She turned back to Sandra. "Satisfied? Can I talk now?"

All the women were looking at her, wide-eyed. She couldn't see why. At this point death was a sure-fire eventuality and all that remained was insufferable waiting. Surely they realized that? Besides that, they must have noticed the drone never moved.

Thora groaned to herself and pointed to Sandra's purse. "Is that a deck of cards in there?"

Sandra nodded cautiously.

"Can I see 'em?" With the pack in hand, Thora sat and started to shuffle. "Anyone for poker?"

Three hours later saw them relaxed, steadily dealing cards and talking quietly. As it turned out Sandra was pleasantly funny, Tara had been a cheerleader while she'd been in high school--"Imagine my surprise when I found out the nerds had it right..."-- and Jennifer had a yoga addiction. Thora was sprawled on her back by the door with her feet propped up on one of the bars. This was good, she thought. This was a pleasant distraction.

She cast a baleful glance out of the corner of her eye toward Hannah. The girl was the only one who refused to sit with them, and was doing her level best to stare a hole into the wall across the way. Her mouth was compressed into a hard line and she looked displeased with this turn of events. Something about her made Thora feel cold.

When the inevitable boots came tromping up, the other four women reverted to frightened bunnies and scampered to their respective corners, trembling and showing the whites of their eyes. Thora remained, making a show of studying her hand. Whoever approached, it wasn't Captain or Second Banana, and she wasn't interested in any Wraith but them. The rest could kiss her ass or suck her dry. She disregarded the fine tremble in her hands, and it conveniently disappeared.

"Human," it hissed at her. Probably trying to frighten her. It seemed like something they'd do, just harass caged humans for the hell of it, maybe even get a cheap ego boost.

"Fuck off, we're playing cards. Come back later," she said, pointedly not looking up.

The thing honest-to-god _snarled_ at her like an angry dog. "I will kill you for your impertinence."

"Well, aren't you just a butt-fucking ray of sunshine, then."

It reached through the bars and snatched her arm into its crushing grip. Poised above her was that coveted feeding hand. She wanted so badly for it to descend. Yellow eyes bored into hers with such hateful intensity it was hard to maintain the contact, but she focused on the bridge of its nose, as her mother had taught her, and thought about the storm that had been raging when she'd learned this bit of wisdom. The memory calmed her and steeled her resolve.

It saw the mark on her chest, and its head tilted as though it was listening to something far away. Whatever it heard made it snarl again and step reluctantly backward, consequently releasing its grip. "Where is your fear?" it growled.

Thora shrugged from her new position on her butt among the scattered cards. She resisted the urge to rub her bruised arm. _Never show weakness_. Fury lit off in her like a powder keg. "Think I dropped it back on my destroyed planet someplace among the corpses," she spat. Suddenly she had no problem returning the glare or the snarl. It rippled out of her throat with no thought on her part.

A pause. The hard citrine eyes narrowed in animosity and its nostrils flared wide. Without another word it spun on one booted heel and huffed off. She wasn't fool enough to think they wouldn't encounter one another again, and wondered how forgiving it would be the next time.

She couldn't think of that one as a person, she realized. Captain and Second Banana had earned the right; Captain through his conversations with her, and Second Banana...well, she wasn't sure about him, but he'd _been there_, which inanely seemed to make a difference. This one, though, was consumed with mindless hatred, and she would offer it nothing less than full reciprocation. It burned in her chest. How dare that thing come here just to devil them? Apex predator it was not. Reveling in fear was putrid and weak. It was an embarrassment, one that would have to be dealt with.

She shook her head in an effort to clear it. Where had that come from? As fast as it had come, the fury ebbed and left her alone with the remnants of a seriously stupid decision.

That horrible calm had descended on their prison again. From their places against the bars her fellow humans were staring at her like she was some kind of freak.

"And just what," Tara demanded, once she found her voice, "the bloody _hell_ was that?"

When she opened her mouth to reply, she realized her throat was sore from that unearthly growl she'd let out. "I don't know," she said softly. "I really...don't know."

After a long stretch of dead air, it was Tara who finally came over and picked up her hand. With a tremor in her voice she laid the spread down and whispered, "Two pair."

***

Cracking the spine of the overzealous subordinate had been satisfying. Now, as he evaluated the state of their stores--pointless, as they were still full to bursting--the Commander felt infinitely calmer.

The subordinate in question had been troublesome from the outset. Over his politely-phrased protests, the Primary had sent the young Wraith from her own hive as a replacement for one of his warriors lost to culling. It would take a naive idiot to overlook such an obvious ploy. The Primary wanted a male loyal to herself among his ranks, high enough in station that he could gather information and yet unobtrusive enough to be overlooked. Sadly, her judgment in character left much to be desired. Of course, accusing the newcomer of espionage when the Commander himself was supposed to have nothing to hide would be an ill-advised maneuver. By flagrantly disregarding orders, the young one had given a convenient excuse for his own death. It was tidy.

The Primary would undoubtedly look beyond the stated reasons to his true purpose, but in these times it was perfectly common to distrust ones allies. Once the whole fiasco would never have been played out. Now every word had a double meaning and every step was laced with intrigue. But she had toyed with politics for far fewer years. He would emerge victorious, he had no doubt.

His warnings had been clear. On his hive, one fed upon worshipers for good reason: they had offered some offense, or sustenance was required immediately and they were the closest to hand. Things were done differently under the rule of the Primary, he knew, but the young one should have adapted himself to the customs of the new hive. It was not as though he could not access their telepathic network. He had known, but been unable to resist. It was disgusting.

That would have been enough to assure the new Wraith's death. Through the bond he had felt Thora's twinge of trepidation. He felt her steel herself. And he was enraged at the offender's audacity. He was furious that her life was about to be wasted on two counts; neither the Wraith nor Thora herself held much regard for her life, one he'd taken interest in preserving.

Halfway through changing screens, his hand paused. Surely it wasn't coincidence that the Queen had expressed interest in Thora mere days before an attempt on her life? His Queen was devoted completely to the Primary, simpering over her in an unnatural fashion that he truly hoped was all theatre; queens were naturally competitive unless one was secure enough to admit inferiority, which was rare enough to be extraordinary. Usually the lesser accepted the rule of the greater, but not without some grumbling and gnashing of teeth. Suppose the two had bonded over their loyalty?

If that was the case, he mused, what purpose would killing Thora serve? His Queen was certainly petty enough to assassinate a worshiper, but Thora was no threat to her at all. It was possible that she gave the orders for this young one to harass the new worshipers, and he had been incensed by Thora's idiotic bravado. It was also possible that the queen, confident in an obvious ally, was hoping that blatant disobedience and disregard for his prior claim might inspire him to act openly against her and justify his execution. Unfortunately, in the time it would have taken for him to probe the thoughts of his subordinate, the Queen could have been warned; if there was some malign intent there, it was best she think it secret.

He understood the reasons behind Thora's fearlessness. Compared to the life of freedom she must once have led, life on a hive ship must grate at her. From her perspective, there was nothing left to lose. But squandering her life so recklessly was nothing short of stupid. She had been prepared to give her life in order to protect relative strangers; perhaps, if he gave her a purpose of some kind relating to her own kind, she might make an effort to preserve it.

His warnings hadn't had an impact on the young one's intentions. The alarm in Thora had grabbed his attention. He'd kept delving into her mind to a minimum, but this time a stronger presence had been necessary. His anger had fueled hers. The sudden flux of her mental prowess and the Wraith vocalization had been more than enough to ensure her safety. He chuckled to himself. Thora was probably very confused at the moment; but had she his resources, her own genes would have provided her with a stunning revelation.

It would have been nothing short of irresponsible, after all, not to take and analyze a sample of the girl's blood. He had too many questions he wanted answered. Two vials had been drawn: one purely in the interests of science, and another to satisfy his private curiosity. The hypothesis he'd nursed since first entering her mind, with all its blinding clarity, had been confirmed.

Once, a goodly time ago, a Wraith scientist had meddled in genetics. The reasons behind his work were sound, but the work itself was an abomination. Merging their own DNA with that of humans was inconceivable. Sure enough, they'd had trouble with humans accessing their minds on occasion and sometimes resisting their mental probing. How one of the humans from Earth found herself in possession of that DNA was a mystery to him. The Lanteans had to have either smuggled them through the 'gate during their retreat, or had repeated a similar experiment once they reached their destination. Which one, and to what purpose, would have to be deciphered later.

Tonight he would visit her. Because of the others he would be obliged to keep it short, just return her belongings and her cat--who had been making a nuisance of himself with amazing proficiency--and warn her against similar behavior in the future. Very soon, they would have to be added to the current worshipers. And, once Thora was safely ensconced as his personal worshiper, he would take more samples and see how deep her mysteries went.

***

Hannah had wedged herself as far into the corner as she could possibly go and would not come out. The others had more or less recovered, though Thora herself still felt shaken.

Despite the million questions lobbed at her, she was no closer to the answer than they were. For the first time in this whole debacle, she wanted to cry. Not being in control of her own self made her shiver. She wished she had Guy there, rumbling away like a diesel engine on her lap. Taking a calming breath, she tried to return her attention to the game.

After a while they'd tired of poker and had switched to rummy. Jennifer was the clear winner, with what looked like most of the deck spread out on the floor in front of her.

Meredith shook her head. "If I didn't know any better," she scolded playfully, "I'd accuse you of counting cards!"

Jennifer gave her a wolfish grin. "Well, I _am_ excellent at math."

With a snort, Tara glanced over at Thora. "We should seriously switch to Spades or something after this." She had just learned rummy, and honestly stank at it.

At Meredith's whispered suggestion, they'd been playing games Hannah could join if she changed her mind. It was plain to see now that she had no intention of doing so. She was doing a beautiful job of making herself the elephant in the room. Every now and then she would glance in their direction. Thora was the only one facing her, which meant she was also the only one to see the sheer hate in the girl's icy blue eyes.

"Aaannnnd....I'm out!" cried Jennifer. She clapped her hands with glee while Tara groaned and slapped her remaining cards down.

Meredith smiled and began gathering up the cards. "Okay, Tara, how do we play Spades?"

While the younger girl launched into an intricate explanation, Thora scooted closer to Jen. She made sure she was hidden by the honey-blond curtain before whispering in her ear, "What do you think is eating Hannah?"

With all the grace of Prom Queen Jen tossed her head, ostensibly to fling her hair behind her shoulders, and studied the sour-faced girl under her lashes. "I don't know," she whispered back. "She's been like that since the beginning. Kinda gives me the creeps."

Thora nodded, both concerned and grateful that she wasn't the only one with this perception. "Think we should keep an eye on her?"

"Couldn't hurt," Jen replied. "I don't know what she could possibly do, but that doesn't mean she won't think of something."

Meredith, bless her observant heart, had noticed their congress of two and pitched several questions to draw out Tara's tutorial as much as possible. While Tara fetched a notebook from her bag, Thora asked her more questions, deliberately confusing the rules for Spades and Hearts to cover Jen passing their conversation to Meredith, who in turn passed it to Tara as they worked on setting up the score sheet.

Jen paired with Tara, putting Meredith and Thora together. While the opening bids were made, Thora cast a casual eye toward Hannah. The girl gave no indication that she'd overheard, but all the same there was something...a flicker, maybe.

***

The Second stood in the doorway, awaiting permission to enter. The Commander did not turn to see him, but beckoned over his shoulder.

"Well?"

"I found nothing to indicate subversion on a grand scale," the sleek Wraith began, "but he did make the attempt. Several lower-ranking officers were approached and rebuffed him."

"Why were these...indiscretions never reported?" the Commander rumbled, annoyed that this had been kept from him.

"He lacked the social graces to truly prove dangerous." The Second moved to stand beside him. "He was, after all, out of his element."

The Commander nodded slowly. Currying favor for their Queen and the Primary when so many Wraith on his hive remembered the long-gone glory days would be difficult. Being young as he had been, he could not have known. "I want to know of every whisper, never mind how trivial it may seem."

The Second nodded. "You think the fool's death was part of something larger?"

"It isn't likely, but I want to be certain." With relations between his hive and others so strained, it wouldn't do to be blindsided by his own crew. He didn't doubt their loyalty for an instant, but mounting frustrations could easily lead to unusual behavior. The Second nodded again in agreement.

"If any action is taken..." the Second said softly. He left unspoken the target of said actions; both knew that, should arms be taken up, it would be against the Queen alone. And that such an egregious act would be seized upon immediately by the Primary as reason enough to slaughter them all.

"We must make certain it will never come to that. Our position is...precarious at best." His officer let out a snort of amusement at the delicacy of the Commander's words.

"It is possible that this is all simple baiting." Eyes narrowed, the Second turned to face the Commander, stripping away the pretense that they were merely discussing the reports on-screen.

"I had given it some thought." Apparently he and the Second were of one mind.

"Most like she will attempt to replace him with a higher-ranking officer from the Primary's hive."

The Commander nodded. It would be the sensible thing to do. "Inform the crew to take extra care with their duties. I want no excuses for any of them to lose their rank."

A growl of mingled agreement and intense frustration answered him. Through his translucent skin, the Commander watched the muscles in the Second's jaw tense. This madness infuriated the officer. Certainly this change would keep them on their toes. Until yet more unfortunate events occurred, there was no way to know what, if any, intent lay behind the installation of the now-deceased young officer. Uncertainty was not something either of them dealt with well.

There was a banked fire in his subordinate's eyes when the other Wraith looked at him again. "Shall we adjourn to the practice area?"

The Commander nodded once, suddenly desiring nothing more than an exhaustive sparring match.

***

The burn in his muscles eclipsed his feelings of infuriated helplessness. Several bleeding wounds had healed on his face and bare arms. With satisfaction he noticed that his Second was looking markedly worse for wear, his silken hair knotted and mussed. The acrid scent of sweat mixed with the metallic tang of blood, the aroma of violence hanging heavily in the air around them.

Both of them had divested themselves of their heavy coats and boots. Their soft undertunics were torn, having snagged on finger guards and claws.

A small assemblage looked on. Other Wraith had come to the practice area to train or spar with one another, and had stepped back to allow them as much space as they might desire. With the roiling aggression so common to their species, this was a common enough practice. It wasn't unusual for several pairs to coalesce into an all-out brawl if there were too little space.

The Second tried to straighten and meet his Commander's gaze, but his left leg was giving him some difficulties. Perhaps that bite over his hamstring had been a little much. The other officer righted himself with dignity and lowered his head, signaling his defeat formally. It was a ruse, naturally. In unfettered combat they would fight to a stalemate, but for the benefit of the onlookers the Second had to swallow his pride and assume the mantel of the loser. This was one of many reasons the Commander was willing to risk his own life and hive to see the Second ascend to the position he was meant to hold.

Feeling infinitely calmer, the two redressed and swept out of the practice area. The hallways were significantly dimmer and cooler, a mild relief. Their boots echoed in the silence as the pair walked abreast without speaking toward the crew quarters.

Finally, the Second said, "I read the report you sent."

The Commander nodded. "I trust you found it as confounding as I do?"

Rounding a corner, the Second waved his hand in front of a panel. The door slid open, and the Second led his Commander into his quarters. "I don't understand what the Old Lanteans would have to gain from such experiments. Presumably they would want nothing further to do with Wraith after their retreat."

"It is my belief they always intended to return. To me it seemed they were regrouping, perhaps working on a weapon of some kind to tip the balance in peace."

The Second busied himself at the table, setting out two glasses and filling both to the brim with a rich, dark liquid from a wooden cask. Replacing the cork, he stood aside and offered the Commander his choice. While his Commander savored the mulled wine, the Second responded. "I wondered whether they were trying to use Wraith genetic structure to make humans immune to feeding."

"That isn't possible. Wraith are just as susceptible," the Commander replied with a frown.

"In the old days it was an abomination," countered the Second. "It is perfectly feasible that they were unaware it could be done."

A growl hung in the air, showing what the Commander thought of this newer age and its hideous practices. "If that was their intent, they failed. Perhaps they merely wanted the advantage these humans provided." Many a time they had been outfoxed by humans who had felt their approach and hidden their people to avoid a culling.

"Hmm." The Second sipped at his own glass while he considered. "It is a simple explanation. In my experience, those are often the most likely."

"But with the Lanteans..." the Commander said softly.

"...nothing is ever simple." The Second drained his glass and poured himself another. "Whatever their intent, it never came to fruition. This was obviously a failed experiment."

The Commander barked a laugh. "Indeed, it was."

"I did want to ask you more about your...meeting with the Queen." His compatriot's slitted eyes locked onto his own. "Something troubles me."

"Many things about that encounter trouble me," the Commander confessed.

"The general worshipers she converts on her own, to ensure their loyalty to her and her alone. She seemed to have no intention of breaking them herself."

"No. It was as though they were already promised to other officers."

"And yet I have heard none speak of their intentions to claim a worshiper." The implication was there, standing out starkly. The Queen could have promised rewards to other Wraith clandestinely, for services rendered and best kept secret.

"It was a possibility I had entertained, but I think it is more likely that she will weigh the talents of the new worshipers before making her selections." Worshipers, after all, had been used effectively in regime changes for a long time. "We merely must keep both expectations in mind, and wait to see which course of action is taken." With that he drained his glass and set it on the table. A nod of thanks saw him sweeping gracefully out the door.

In the quiet solitude after his exit, the Second stared a moment into the swirling depths of the spiced wine and hoped his Commander would forgive him what he would eventually be forced to do.


	6. Summer Squalls

It was in the darkness of what she could only presume to be night that Thora heard the soft thump of stealthy boots approaching.

Despite the blankets between herself and the cold floor and the soothing cadence of even breaths issuing from her cellmates, sleep eluded her. A quick glance showed the other women deeply asleep, hopefully dreaming of somewhere infinitely more pleasant. In repose their faces were relaxed, free of the clench of fear in the hideous half-light surrounding them. Tara's mouth was open and she was drooling a little. Hannah, though the pinched look vanished, held herself stiffly as though expecting a traitorous blow from her comrades in the night. Thora rolled her eyes.

Captain emerged predictably from the misty depths of the hallway, and against the inky black of his jacket was a writhing shine of fur she recognized instantly. "Guy!" she whispered happily.

The Wraith actually smiled; more of a smirk, really, with just one corner of his mouth lifting, but with a wave of his hand the door was opened. He entered quietly and set down both her pack and the cat beside her. Thora wound her fingers into the soft fur as her pet purred and nibbled at her contentedly. He seemed well.

"Sand will be sent for him later." Captain's whisper was an inhuman, sibilant hiss. Meredith whimpered in her sleep, but didn't wake.

"Oh, for him to...gotcha." Thora was grateful, but still unsure of how to proceed. Her encounter with dear Sunny earlier today and her return to humanity made her feel a touch awkward in his presence. Just as before when she was in isolation, the Wraith towered over her. Seeing human eyes again highlighted the strangeness of the predatory gaze above.

"You are having trouble sleeping?" he asked queitly.

She nodded. "It's been a big day," she answered. "I know it's been a while since...everything...but this," she flapped her hand at the cell behind her, "it's all a bit much to take in."

"Perhaps you would care for a walk?"

Thora raised one eyebrow. "Around the hive?"

"No," he purred. "I thought we would take a stroll into deep space."

She chuckled at her own stupidity for a moment. "Sure. I'm sick to death of bars." Preserving her modesty, she struggled into her jeans below the shield of her tattered quilt.

He blinked once, slowly, as she gained her feet and freed herself of the cat and tangled blankets. Guy pouted for a moment, but curled himself happily in the warmth of her recently vacated spot. "I'll be expecting that back," she informed him under her breath. The cat disregarded her entirely and, if anything, seemed to make himself more comfortable.

As the bars closed behind them, she cast a long look at her erstwhile prison.

Misinterpreting her pause, Captain spoke. "You do not need to feel compelled. There is no penalty for refusing."

Thora shook her head. "It's just...odd to be seeing it from the outside, is all." Suddenly the heady feeling of freedom hit home. She grinned broadly and stretched her fingers toward the unseen ceiling, feeling muscles fatigued from disuse clench and release.

Captain watched the display appreciatively, good humor glinting in his eyes. He chuckled. "Shall we proceed, or would you care to lurk a bit more?"

She looked up at him and his challenging expression, then beyond him at the swirling twilight maze of the hive. There was a measure of trepidation, and a thrill of fear ran down her spine. For some reason she didn't care to examine at the moment, she sensed she'd be safe in his presence. Squaring her shoulders, she grinned impishly. "Lead on, O Captain," she replied, and stuck out her arm.

Placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, he guided them forward.

Behind them, amongst the sleeping women, Hannah's eyes snapped open and studied the couple gliding seamlessly into the unknown.

***

They strolled quietly and unobtrusively around deserted parts of the ship, avoiding officers and drones alike. The Second was the only Wraith he would allow to see them. A few times he'd felt a subordinate approaching and whisked them on an alternate path, shielding his presence and allowing them to pass by. When they were alone and out of earshot, he would lean down to whisper their locations to her, and pause to point out landmarks or areas of significance.

Taking her out had been a foolhardy, spur-of-the-moment decision. His sensibilities cursed at him, but a layer of himself he'd thought forgotten crowed at this forbidden outing. Often as a juvenile he and his brothers had meandered the halls after hours, doing their best to avoid adults and getting into mischief. He had long outgrown that part of himself, or so he'd thought.

It pleased him to give her this, he realized. Here he was, entrapped and pinioned by politics and schemes, troubled and sleepless. Her life was very similar. Just as he found her lack of involvement in these situations refreshing, she must also relish this sense of freedom. He had never before shared empathy of any kind with a human. Fitting it should be one who reminded him--suddenly and markedly--of himself in his youth: foul-mouthed, stubborn, with more backbone than good sense.

Heavy footfalls announced the presence of three drones down the corridor they had entered. No doors were handy, and they didn't have time to dart back they way they'd come. He spun Thora quickly into an alcove, his hand shooting up to clamp over her mouth. He lowered his head to her shoulder, lest the gleam of his hair give them away, and lifted his coat around her to cover the pale shine of her skin. In sudden understanding or fear she pressed her cheek close to his, shielding herself in the darkness of his uniform.

Above the clomp of boots he could hear her pulse fluttering close to his ear. He grinned against her throat; though she was ignorant of the true potential for trouble, her fear of discovery was healthy. Moreover, it reminded him again of his youthful escapades, small bodies cramped together in shadows to evade capture, childish hearts hammering against one another in terror and excitement.

It took the drones a painful eternity to exit the long hall, but their steps never slowed. He felt their attention slide past him without notice, and as the echoes faded he let out a long breath. Thora trembled. He looked at her.

The corners of her eyes were crinkled and she was shaking with suppressed laughter. He smiled. He'd been right in keeping her mouth shut, and let his hand remain for a time to muffle her hysterical giggles. It was always laughter that had given himself and his brothers away during their adventures. Thora's fingers clutched at the heavy leather of his coat. Once she calmed he stepped back from her.

"You really aren't supposed to have me out here, are you?" she whispered, still smiling.

"I am not," he agreed, and inclined his head in mock-abasement.

She offered her arm again, and he took it. "But you're the Commander, aren't you?"

"There is still a certain level of decorum to which I must bow." The face she made indicated a bevy of questions she was burning to ask. He decided to take her to his quarters. It was perhaps more foolhardy; after all, the prospective worshipers were as yet unbroken, and he had not obtained permission from the Queen to take her as his own. However, their chances of keeping this meeting secret were far greater should they be more, well...secretive. Of course, getting her in and out of the living area might be a touch more difficult. "Come along."

He was grateful for the lack of population between them and their destination. Along the way they met with no obstacles, and their good fortune made him more nervous. He bustled her into the room with all the grace of a young male anticipating an illicit liaison, very nearly tripping her in his rush to conceal her within. Once the doors hissed closed behind them he relaxed.

Thora's face was tilted up toward his, expressionless, but her eyes spoke volumes. He was struck by the depth and clarity of them, and also by the realization that they weren't the stormy grey he'd once thought. Their centers were, most assuredly, but a thick band of dark blue surrounded her irises, and close to the pupil was a spiky yellow-green starburst. Given the urgency with which he had evaded detection and their presence in his bedroom, her eyes told him frankly that she was wondering whether she ought to be prepared for some attempt at seduction.

Quickly he released her, having held her close to him for far too long. She was quite fetching, considering her species, but their companionship was more important than a quick, sweaty tumble, however appealing he suddenly found the prospect.

"I brought you here to avoid discovery," he said simply. "No more. Have no fear."

Incrementally she mellowed. It was understandable that she wouldn't desire him, he thought. Forced from her home, forced into a cage, forced into servitude...being forced into his bed would be yet another in a long string. And there was yet more into which she would be forced.

"I don't understand. Why would the High and Mighty Commander have to slink around his own ship?" she queried. The return of her bravado was reassuring.

He stripped off his jacket and hung it up in his closet, using the delay to consider what exactly to tell her. Soon she would join the ranks of humans, worshiper and slave alike, and thus would be subject to their politics. What he told her could very easily prove to be fodder later. On the other hand, she didn't seem to be one of those who would allow herself to be drawn in to the thickly-spun web of games and scheming. He considered her trustworthy, and found himself--against all reason--wanting to confess everything to her, if only to take the weight off his own shoulders briefly. It did not escape him that she had had no opportunity to truly _earn_ that trust.

That was his problem, he decided. In all his talks with her, she had provided an escape, a diversion. He'd held a fascination with her, beginning with her willingness to stand against him even as she began her sideways skid into death. He found himself studying her and protecting her at every turn. It was no longer simple fascination. Somehow, between the visits and his glimpse into her mind, the little human female had become a friend. He wanted to rely on her, but centuries of conditioning screamed that the impulse was unwise.

He looked at her. She still stood beside the door, shoulders squared, eyes uncertain. She defied expectation and convention at every turn. She was something new, and so he would try something new.

"It is not my own ship," he told her. "I serve the Queen."

"_The_ Queen?" she asked.

He nearly groaned. _She is too quick by half._ "_My_ Queen," he amended.

She smirked as she sensed her advantage. "Too late." She seated herself at his desk, dwarfed by his heavy chair. "Spill."

"Spill?"

Thora grumbled. "It means to tell someone everything. A shortened version of the expression 'spill your guts.'" A shadow passed over her face, as though she had just realized the implications of the phrase. That was probably true, he mused. Information gleaned from captives on this hive and others pointed to relatively sheltered lives, at least by the harsh standards of Pegasus.

He sighed and pulled one of the smaller chairs from the table in the center of the room over to sit across from her. "Our Queen is relatively young," he said, "and had been assigned to our hive by the Primary of our alliance to replace an older, more seasoned queen."

"And that one is your queen."

He closed his eyes. "Indeed." This secret, only ever half-voiced, even within his own mind, slipped past his lips with far more ease than he thought it should.

"Is she...?"

"Dead?" he finished. "Regrettably, yes." He didn't meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

For a moment he was truly touched. Then, unbidden, an image of his former Queen came to his mind if she were privy to the sympathy of this little female. Seeing her beautiful, terrible features frozen halfway between disgust and amusement made him laugh.

Thora looked offended but he held up a hand to stay her indignation. "It is only," he said between chuckles, "that I have never heard such a phrase directed from human to Wraith, nor the intent behind it."

She began to laugh with him. "Yeah," she giggled, "I suppose that's not something you hear every day." Eventually they sobered, and she pressed on. "So what about the new one?"

"She...is very much loyal to the Primary. Disturbingly so." He paused, and saw in her face both curiosity and that indefinable depth that made her Thora, that nameless thing that gave him confidence in her. "She does not consider the welfare of this hive, only how best to continue pleasing the Primary. This leads us down a dangerous path." He stood and began to pace.

During his circuits, he told her everything about the civil war, the New Lanteans, their position within the alliance. She drank it in quietly, only making soft noises of acknowledgment every now and again, and once or twice asking for him to expound upon a point she didn't understand.

"So she's made you into pawns." It wasn't a question.

"That she has."

"And you think that she'd be willing to go down with the ship, so to speak?" One cinnabar eyebrow raised critically.

That was something to ruminate upon. Her loyalty to the Primary would certainly include her willingness to send them all to their deaths, but the idea of one queen laying down her life for another was so absurd that he'd honestly neglected to consider it. "I do not think so," he rumbled. Sending an entire hive of elder Wraith to a fiery death would be a foolish move, but in that it would not be unprecedented. It would also silence many quiet voices of dissent. After all, hives were more replaceable than queens.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she muttered. "Okay, so, freaky behavior and dubious intentions aside, why were you so worried to be wandering around with me?"

"Not to be distracted, are you?" he teased.

"The position of a Queen is above that of a Commander, yes?"

"By far."

"And you didn't want to be caught."

"I did not." The theory, he could see by her questing look, was fully-formed in her mind already. He appreciated the way she tested each new point of knowledge before positing it completely, as though testing the integrity of stepping stones across a rushing stream. She was no scientist, but at philosophy and speculation she would excel.

"Which means that it's against the Queen's command to take me out of my cell." She cocked her head to one side, a Wraith-like gesture that surprised him. He allowed silence to provide his answer. "So she's got plans for me."

"Or she is dangling you just out of my reach, using you as the prize to ensure her orders are followed." He kept his tone flippant.

Thora blinked rapidly. "Say what?"

He sighed. "Do you recall the visit during which I had just come from a meeting with the Queen?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"I was unwilling to tell you the subject of the meeting then, but I will tell you now." He reseated himself next to her. "It was about you and the other females with whom you have recently become acquainted."

She sucked in a breath. "What about us?"

"You are to become worshipers."

Though quietly spoken, he could nearly hear the impact of his words. The moment stretched out before she slowly shook her head.

"Thora..."

"No." She stood up and started pacing, following his footsteps from a few minutes before.

"Thora."

"No!" she shouted. "To hell with that. Fuck that. No way. You can tell her to blow it out her _ass_, there is no _fucking way _ we would agree to something so--"

"Thora!" he snapped. It had the desired affect. She stopped her pacing and ranting, and instead stood still, shaking with fury. "Thora," he began, more gently, "it is not so terrible as it seems." He winced at the lie; while he saw it as a matter of course, he knew that to her it would be terrible indeed. "This is simply our way. You would all escape death, and live out your natural lives here." At this point adding that he intended to at least make a play to keep her from this fate would be fuel on the fire, he could sense that much.

Oh, she was angry. He could see the impotent rage in every line of her posture, in the heavy crimson flush across her cheeks and chest. Her small hands were balled into fists. The desire to strike him was quite evident, and he could understand. She remained silent, though out of emotion or consideration he wouldn't guess.

"The Queen wants the other females broken as soon as possible. There have been...difficulties...with unbroken Earth-born humans aboard other hives, and allowing you to remain as you are is a danger to us."

"Damn skippy," she growled. He fought the urge to smile fondly at her ferocity. After the words left her lips she closed her eyes and took some deep breaths. The tremors stopped and she returned to her seat. Her anger radiated off her in waves. Her abilities let him feel it all, and through their link he poured calmness and rationality. Soon she relaxed some; he would not lull her into a false sense of security, but she badly needed perspective and a level head if she were to understand the situation as it stood. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Tell me everything."

So he did. He told her what was required and expected of worshipers, how they came to be, how they lived. He highlighted the differences between general worshipers and personal worshipers. He told her everything he could. During his speech her eyes remained fixed on his desk, not seeing him but drinking in every word.

"So basically you take away our free will, turn us into mindless zombies, and in return we're allowed to live." The pronouncement was accompanied by another blast of cold hatred.

"No," he replied. "Your personalities will remain unchanged but for the desire to serve the Wraith."

"And you think that's freedom?" she asked sadly.

"I do not," he told her. "In the past there have been some who were allowed to go without this transition, those who would willingly serve without being broken. If I could hold to these traditions I would, but there is very little I can do."

"So what does this have to do with the Queen's carrot-and-stick mentality?" A glance at his confused expression had her rephrasing herself. "Why am I a prize to be dangled in front of you?"

"Because of our...prior dealings...I did not want you to be broken. The only way I could make certain it did not happen was to request that you be given to me as a personal worshiper."

"And by expressing interest in me..."

"Yes." It was a loaded word. The Queen could hold Thora over him, and she knew it. Thora's life was in his hands, and his hands were tied by the Queen's command.

She slumped over the desk and touched her forehead to the cool wood. "Fuck," she breathed.

"That, little one, is a sentiment we share."

"Okay. Okay. So. Shit." She sat up. "Is there any way we can wriggle out of this one?"

He checked briefly at her use of "we." Apparently he wasn't the only one in this strange position of trusting the other. "Unfortunately I do not believe so."

"Hang on." Her brow creased. "Didn't you say that Wraith queens are usually the ones to break general worshipers?"

"Indeed I did."

"So why isn't she? More importantly, why leave it up to you?"

"There are three potential reasons. Firstly, she will offer them as personal worshipers to those who may be more...trusting, I suppose I should say, as a sort of payment, using my hesitance to do so myself as an excuse. There may well be divided loyalties aboard this hive, extending far beyond your unfortunate friend from earlier."

"Yeah, what was up with that?"

He waved a hand. "Later. Second, she wants to see which officers I award with a personal worshiper as a means of detecting those with the least fealty to her. Thirdly, she expects that I will turn them myself and attempt to found my own regime of worshipers to counter hers, and thus wage an underground battle against her authority."

"I notice that not one of those items was plain coincidence," she remarked with wry amusement.

"Coincidence is not often a part of Wraith dealings."

"I'm beginning to see that," she said. "Why tell me any of this?"

"Why speak frankly with me?"

She frowned and opened her mouth to speak. Then she closed it, slumped, and sighed.

"And yet again," he smirked, "we agree."

"Well, hell." She thought, hard. "Wait, so...slaves don't get...you know." She made a wiggling gesture with one hand. "Wraithed."

He laughed in surprise. "No, they do not."

"Can't we just go that route?"

"You forget that slaves are generally young children, captured by mistake. They have their entire lives to acclimate to the structure of the hive, and form their loyalties and dependence upon it." He closed his eyes a moment before continuing. "Thora, I did not tell you these things so that we might find a solution. I informed you so that you would be prepared."

"You're not going to help us?" Her voice was frigid and pained, and terribly small.

Contrite, he said softly, "I do not believe there is anything I can do. If I were to use my office, I could easily lose it. I would be replaced, probably by a commander of the Primary's choosing, and those for whom I am responsible might be lost." _Please_, he begged internally,_ understand that I cannot._

She tensed, as though preparing for a fight, and then sagged. For the first time since their difficult talk had started, she looked at him. Tiny iridescent tears clung to her lower lashes, but she held them back. This stung like a lash, but beyond that he felt a welling of pride. _Good girl_, he thought to himself. She was strong.

Slowly she stood. "I'd like to go back to my cell, please," she whispered.

He inclined his head. "And so you shall."

***

Thora curled up in her blankets again, deposing Guy. He responded with a huge yawn, pink tongue curling languidly, and a sleepy blink before snuggling up to her side. She'd nearly trod on him coming in the door in the dark, so caught up was she in her own thoughts. Captain lingered by the door for a moment, a regretful and silent presence, before finally turning his back and whisking away down the silent corridor.

_Worshipers_, she mused. Again, her eyes slid over her sleeping companions. Did they know what was in store for them? Somehow she doubted that a kindly-disposed Wraith had seen fit to explain any of this to them, and still less ask for permission. That it was Captain made it worse, a whole new level of betrayal.

Which was a stupid reaction to have, she reminded herself. He hadn't wanted to tell her. He didn't have to tell her. He could have just ordered it done and left her in the dark. It wasn't required for her to know any of this. It wasn't as though she'd have to sign a waiver or initial a contract, voluntarily relinquish her rights. She was still thinking like she lived in a free world, where her opinion mattered. Where she had any rights at all. And he was hesitating over it, too. If he'd done what the Queen had demanded, all of this would have been over long ago. Probably he was considering the ramifications of whatever actions he took, but he plainly felt bad about the whole thing.

Behind his eyes she'd seen a thread of frustration and confusion, as though he was unaccustomed to this sort of thing. And well he might be. It was doubtful that he'd ever been so closely involved with a human as he was with her. Regardless of how she'd come to be on this ship, it was clear to her that they'd formed a bond, a tentative friendship. She trusted him, and he'd rewarded that trust by saving her life over and over. And clearly it had taken more than a little trust on his part to tell her any of this, to delineate the war going on, to reveal what was quite possibly classified information. All for her, little ol' human Thora. Little ol' _food source_ Thora.

Hesitation implied weakness. By holding back on them he was undermining himself. The way he talked, the Queen already had her suspicions, but what about those loyal to him? If he quailed at turning a handful of humans in a way that was quite usual to them, they would think he was weak. He hadn't come out and bluntly stated it, but it had been heavily implied both by his words and the little she'd learned of Wraith culture. If he was going to remain Commander, this couldn't go on.

But neither could she allow him to hurt her friends.

She closed her eyes. There had to be some kind of compromise. Something that would keep his authority intact and still let them retain their freedom.

Under her blanket, she shivered. Wraith society being what it was, he must be truly fearsome to have held such a high office for as long as he had. It was hard to reconcile her Captain with that image. She let out a slow sigh and tried to relax under her blanket.

Just as she was about to drop off to sleep she heard a soft footfall close to the bars. Her ears perked up to catch whispers. She couldn't make out the words, but one of the voices definitely belonged to Hannah. She eased open her eyes enough that she could peek through her lashes and still keep them from reflecting the light. By Hannah's corner of the cell knelt a sly-looking young woman clad in white robes. Hannah was facing Thora, but her eyes were all for the newcomer. In the dim light she could make out her name on Hannah's lips.

She felt cold. Hannah was conniving with what could only be a worshiper. She had behaved as though she didn't know what was going on, but this indicated that she knew full well. Thora froze completely when she saw Hannah's mouth form the words "the Commander."

Well, shit. The little sneak had been awake. And now she was telling one of the evil Queen's mindslaves about an outing Captain had specifically endeavored to keep secret. Thora exercised all her discipline to continue feigning sleep. There was nothing she could do to warn him, and no way to know how bad the punishment was going to be. Her anger at him left her quite suddenly. Here he'd risked gods-knew-what, just to warn her of something he could have done while she'd been unconscious, she'd spat on the gesture, and now Hannah was tattling. Oh, she was going to get that little bitch.

Shortly the other woman padded away, almost silent on her slippers, and Hannah settled in. Her breathing soon evened out and she relaxed, a poisonous smile on her round face.

Thora herself shifted restlessly, feeling helpless and ungrateful and furious. It was hours before she gave herself over to broken sleep filled with bitter dreams.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to you guys for reviewing! I appreciate the encouragement. ^.^

Sorry it's been a minute since my last update. Would you believe I have less time on breaks than during the school year? And then flu, and then bronchitis...yeah, it's been a regular whirlwind. My plot bunny was exhausted, and no amount of shaking her would help her revive. For all the evil she perpetrates, you'd think she'd be a tad more hardy. Guess not.

This chapter feels choppy to me, but I'm hoping to get back in the flow here real soon. Just gotta find my groove again. Mebbe feed the bunny's carrot addiction. She's a terrible veggie lush.


	7. Message In A Bottle

Despite being the last to sleep, Thora was the first awake. She had managed only a couple hours being forcibly evicted from dreamland. Every rustle from the other occupants jolted her eyes open, the echoes of footsteps down the hall had her springing to a sitting position. Through it all, her new nemesis slept on. Despite knowing she could never bring herself to actually perpetrate the act, she fantasized a bit about strangling Hannah while the girl dreamed of gods-knew-what glory she stood to gain from her little spy games.

It was when the noises around them became more frequent that Thora woke the others. The hive was gearing up for its daily bustle, and the girls had probably gotten enough sleep. Though she hadn't observed the schedule in the cell for long, it had been mentioned that Hannah tended to snooze until the sounds of the drones bringing their morning repast--har-har--had them all crowding into the farthest corners.

Meredith began to mumble loudly in protest, and Thora placed a warning finger over the woman's lips. "Shhh," she whispered, then jerked her head in Hannah's direction. Confused, the woman nodded her understanding and rose without a word.

Eventually they were all seated in Thora's section of the cell, still wrapped in blankets and blinking sleep from their eyes.

"What's going on?" Tara managed through a yawn.

"Captain came to me last night." Thora pitched her voice low, and she trained her eyes on Hannah, measuring the steady rise and fall of the girl's chest. She was still out. "He told me what's going to happen to us."

Jennifer looked surprised. "Why would he do that?"

Thora thought about how best to phrase her prickly answer, but Sandra saved her the trouble. "Who cares? If we can get information from him, I don't really care why." She poked Thora's arm eagerly. "What did he say?" Her expression was one Thora could honestly say she'd never seen before, a sort of avid fearfulness widening over-bright eyes.

She took a deep breath. "We're supposed to be Wraith worshipers." She related to them some of what Captain had shared with her the previous night, carefully skirting the sections about Wraith hierarchy and the war. That, she felt, was something he'd intended for her to keep secret.

The girls slumped as she spoke. Despair tainted the air around them.

"It gets worse," she said softly. "I saw Hannah talking with what I think was a worshiper last night."

"How can you be sure?" Meredith inquired.

"I can't, really, but I don't know of any other humans that traipse around the hive in white robes." She shrugged away her pang of guilt. "Captain...wasn't supposed to take me out of here, and I'm sure he wasn't supposed to tell me everything he did. It was against the Queen's orders. I over heard Hannah telling the other chick about my little walk."

Tara frowned. "What difference would it make? I mean, like, I understand that the Queen said not to, but that's hardly--"

"Spies for the Queen. From what he said, it sounds like she's waiting for him to slip up."

"And if you look for something hard enough," Meredith replied, "you'll find it."

"You mean that bitch knew this entire time?" spat Jennifer.

"Maybe." Thora glanced at the sleeping girl again. "Did you guys ever see anyone creeping around after we were supposed to be asleep?"

Sandra nodded. "Just once," she added hastily, "and they never came close or said anything. It was just something I noticed, but I didn't really think anything of it."

Meredith looked fixedly at the younger woman. "When did this happen? Do you remember?"

"I couldn't tell you how long ago it was," Sandra told her, "but I think it was around the first week we were...here."

"Why would the Queen care about what we do?" Jennifer wondered.

"Because humans have been violent on other ships," Thora explained. "It makes sense to keep an eye on us. I just wonder what they promised Hannah."

"Status," Tara said simply. The other girls looked at her, but Jennifer nodded in agreement. "Look, she's in a new place, she wants assurance that she's not going to be hurt. They can't spy on us all the time without being too obvious, and plus we'd act differently if we knew they were watching."

"Definitely," Meredith murmured.

"Anyway," the dark-eyed girl continued, "Hannah's here all the time. She can watch us, and in exchange she doesn't start out as the New Girl when we become worshipers. The new girl always gets hazed. This way, she can become part of the clique without having to prove herself."

"Well, hell," said Thora.

"So what do we do about it?" Sandra asked. "Do we just...pretend we don't know, or confront her with it?"

"Pretend we don't know." Jennifer looked over at the sleeping traitor with hate naked in her eyes. "We have no idea if they'll try to split us up or something if they find out we're wise to them."

Meredith nodded her assent. "Or they may just decide not to bother." She fixed her kind brown eyes on Thora. "I just hope nothing happens to the...to Captain."

Tara snorted loudly, and was summarily shushed. When they were certain Hannah hadn't been disturbed, she whispered, "Who cares what happens to him?"

Thora felt a small spurt of anger on his behalf, but quashed it down. "He's our information pipeline. I wouldn't have known about any of this if he didn't see fit to tell me. Plus...we know what he'll do. If he's replaced, the new guy would be a wild card." She left the _and infinitely less sympathetic_ unsaid.

"Better the devil you know," Jennifer agreed.

"Is there anything we can do?" Sandra's lip trembled, and she looked near tears.

"He said there wasn't. He was just letting me know what to expect." Thora shook her head. "But there has to be something. He said that, back in the day, some worshipers weren't broken, just...innately loyal. They weren't ever allowed off the ship or anything, though, in case they were faking it. It's not like that anymore, though, since Earth humans put up such a fight."

Eyes lit with grim pride at the statement. Much good it did them personally, Thora mused. Giving their captors hell actually seemed like more of a step backward, in their current circumstances.

"I wonder," Meredith plucked at the edge of her blanket and frowned, clearly mulling something over.

Tara nudged her. "What?"

"Well," the older woman said meditatively, "from what you said, there are ranks of worshipers, all allowed different levels of trust. The ones that get...addicted...don't fight against it, but the others who weren't...they just weren't allowed off the ship." She was quiet again for a few moments before being prodded indelicately by Tara. "I was just thinking. What if...what if there was just a change in security protocols?"

The women around her blinked, and she sighed. "I mean, to be confined to this cell we don't have to be addicted. What if we were confined to one room, and the Wraith came to us rather than let us run around the ship?"

Thora frowned. "But that's kind of the reason they have worshipers. Running errands and stuff means we'd have to run around the ship. If we can't do that, we're no good to them."

"That's not exactly true," Jen said. "There are...other reasons..."

A fresh quiet descended on them. None of them had wanted to think much on the prospect of having to bed down with one of their enemies. Thora cursed herself for not asking Captain more questions about that less savory aspect of their future duties. It would be a large help to know how often it might happen, or what to expect.

"But then again," she added, "if we're supposed to be so dangerous, do you think they'd still want to...?"

Thora shook her head. "They might see it was a challenge. They're big on those."

"Well," Meredith reasoned, "what if we offer other...attractions?"

"Like what?"

"Maybe massage, music, food."

"They don't eat," Tara pointed out.

"Who knows? They might still like the taste. Anyway, it would be a novelty," replied Meredith, determinedly optimistic. "And if it keeps us, you know, _safe_, I'm willing to give it a shot."

Around their conspiracy circle, heads nodded one after another. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was at least something.

Meredith turned to Thora. "Do you think you can talk to him about it?"

She sighed and checked on Hannah again. "Provided he's still the Commander by the end of all this, I'll find a way to bring it up. I can't promise he'll take the idea," she warned. Silently she tacked on an addendum. If he thought it was a bad plan, she would shoot it down herself. There was no way she would be able to convince the others of his veracity, but the look on his face last night when he was confessing all this to her made her believe firmly in him, at least on this subject.

"Well," Meredith chirped, the false cheer--bright and nursey--slipping back into her voice, "we'll just give it the old college try and see where it goes."

It was her version of a poker face, Thora realized. Considering her previous profession, it made sense.

With their brief meeting complete, they sank into contemplation. Thora chewed her lip and worried; she worried for them, she worried for Captain, and worried for them a little more. If he lost his position... Nothing he'd said last night indicated a positive side to this Primary. She had been ruthless enough to kill his former Queen for no other reason than to install a more biddable female in a position of power. Presumably she would do the same with his rank. He'd mentioned Sunshine, also, and his connection to the Primary. It was a dismal track record. They would be broken and deviled for however long their "superiors" chose to keep them alive.

And all because Hannah didn't want to be the low worshiper on the totem pole.

_Bitch_, Thora swore at her mentally.

True to form, when the drones marched in with their morning porridge and fresh bucket, Hannah stretched and sat up. There was no trace of the sly expression from last night, which meant she probably hadn't heard them. Thora let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

While the others moved against the bars to keep distance between themselves and their captors, they no longer crammed themselves into the corners. It was caution rather than panic, but the difference was plain. Tara held her ground but for a few feet, giving the drones room to maneuver. Thora stayed on her blanket, Guy nestled against her thigh, and watched.

Their movements were efficient, but not quick. Their size made them a touch clumsy; the taller drone nearly dropped one of the bowls. Everything was laid out as usual, porridge and water on the floor in orderly rows, bucket in its usual place.

Using her hair as a curtain, Thora shot her eyes over to Hannah without turning her face from their visitors. She had pushed back against the bars according to her habit, her face displaying a healthy fear, but at the same time...there was something fake about the ingénue-wide eyes and quick, panting breaths. In the way of behind-the-scenes movie footage, once all the wires and pyrotechnics were revealed the flaws became apparent. Her pulse beat steadily through the vein under pale skin in her throat, and her hands were relaxed. It was a sham, and a hammy job at that. Thora was surprised none of them had picked up on it earlier. To cover the snags in her performance, Hannah had chosen to overact. _Un-freakin-believable._

As the drones made their exit, she caught the eyes of the others in turn. They had also seen for themselves, and anger burned low in their eyes.

Holding their tongues was going to be tough.

***

"Your decision was foolhardy."

He straightened his shoulders and kept his eyes trained on the readout before him. His Second's voice wasn't unexpected, but the words took him aback.

"It was rash, I admit. Although your knowledge of my actions surprises me."

Leather creaked as the officer positioned himself just behind his Commander. "I overheard a conversation in the worshipers' compound a short while ago. It seems that one of the new recruits was eager to assume her future role, and has been passing information to the one known as Leona."

The Commander growled softly, considering. He did not know many by name--where was the need?--but this one had caught his attention. Leona took extreme care never to displease him or draw attention to herself; it was this care that brought his eye to her. She was angling for a position as Head Worshiper on the hive, which would allow her to serve the Queen directly and rule over the lives of other worshipers. It would afford her only paltry influence, but even the shadow of power was worth grasping at for her. For no other reason than her conniving nature, he desired to see her gone; her particular level of ambition could spill over the carefully-maintained boundaries between worshipers and crew.

When the summons came, as he was certain it would, he would require a suitable excuse. Perhaps he could claim that he was ensuring Thora's infatuation with him in order to gather insight as to the temperaments of the others. A lick of fear shot up his spine. This game had begun as a simple indulgence, and now lives hung in the balance. He sensed a shift in his equilibrium.

Previously their grand design to overthrow the Queen and Primary, and thus take control of the alliance, had been a loose plan for an undetermined period in the future. It was an eventuality; they had been waiting for optimum conditions. The time was coming ripe. These new worshipers were gradually becoming more important than he'd realized. It wasn't their identities that made them so; they had come to represent a sort of line in the sand, the tipping point.

He turned to face the Second. From the tension in the other Wraith's shoulders, he could guess that perhaps he had not been the only one to consider the situation in this manner. "I do not suppose you happened to overhear any other interesting observations?"

The other shook his head once. "All else seemed to be simple gossip."

"Of course," growled the Commander. The one statement, coupled with his hesitation, was enough to make his life difficult, and both knew it. Killing her would look suspicious, particularly in light of the recent demise of the Primary's spy. Leona would take her hearsay to the Queen; it was merely a question of when. He doubted it would be immediate. As a mere worshiper, it was improbable that Leona would know of the Queen's tacit decree. The fact that he was dawdling as well as socializing with one of the humans, however, was a point of interest. It would be prudent to wait until she had further claims to bolster this one, though her greedy nature might outweigh her logic.

She needed to suffer an accident, he decided. Something out of his hands. He estimated that he had at least a few days in order to engineer her untimely and well-deserved death, and to be certain her secrets and aspirations died with her. "Her drive is quite admirable," he said finally to his Second. "Perhaps Agrial ought to be apprised of the...secret talent that resides within her flock." Agrial was the current Head Worshiper, and had been for longer than a human's natural life span. She would not take a threat to her office lightly.

"Agreed," responded the Second in a reasonable tone.

A dagger in the night would solve his problems.

He paused for a moment. He found himself sensing Thora with greater ease, and now he felt her fear, hatred, and--unexpectedly--the sort of concentrated hope that made one nauseas.

"Before you begin your scheduled duties, you will escort the detainees to the bathing chambers. Be certain that no other worshipers are present; we must prevent conflict." He kept his tone mild, distant, disinterested. By trusting to loose implication that bordered on code, he protected the Second. With such veiled words, pleading ignorance would remain an option. "Obtain a sample of their writing, as well. We have discovered hand-written documents in what seems to be another language utilizing similar characters; I would like to know whether their hand-written documents differ from the printed word, or if this is truly a different tongue."

The Second merely inclined his head and awaited dismissal. When the Commander turned away, he swept quietly out the door in a flurry of silver and black.

***

Thora was fuming. Hannah barely spoke to them, but she was quickly finding that even the sound of the woman's breathing was whipping her into a tizzy. Every so often Meredith would send her a sweet, consolatory smile, as though to say, "It's okay. We all want to choke her."

Each moment that Hannah passed in silence, making no move to redeem herself, fanned the embers of what had been a dull and desperate rage. She had wanted, in some naive part of herself, Hannah to feel bad about what she'd done, and come back to their side.

Approaching footsteps snapped her out of her murderous ruminations. She could distinguish the gleam of silky hair in the shadows, and her nerves jangled. As the form of Second Banana was revealed under the blue light, part of her was relieved and another tensed further. She felt confident that he would do them no harm, though why she wasn't entirely sure. It was equally as possible that their time had come, and Captain had sent someone who would refrain from tormenting them to do the deed.

The bars opened, and he stepped through the entrance into their tiny world. "You will bring whatever items you require to bathe and follow me. You will refrain from running, and will not deviate from my path. Is this understood?"

For once, Thora didn't feel like making a snarky comment. The prospect of a bath was a good one, coveted and rare. Momentary humor helped maintain her sanity, but a bath...her kingdom for a bath. It was a surprising and tantalizing offer.

She was the first on her feet, some of the loose undergarments she'd discovered in her pack--probably left by Captain when it had been left in his possession, which made her feel touched and slightly creeped out by turns--bundled in a soft black tunic he'd included and clasped in one hand. The others were understandably more reticent, but one by one they filed out to stand in the hallway and wait on Second Banana. Hannah shuffled out last, head down, eyes on the floor, presenting a picture of reverential subservience.

Or, as Thora thought of it, sucking up.

Many of the places they passed on their way were vaguely familiar, half-remembered from last night's excursion. She couldn't be sure of Second Banana's knowledge, so she walked slowly and was sure to hesitate when the others did. Eventually he led them to an unfamiliar section, and she no longer had to fake her bewilderment. This part was both shabbier and more festive, with tapestries hanging on the walls and candles illuminating their way. Nobody moved through the passages, but Thora could smell humans; removed from society, she had discovered that the Wraith smelled cool, dry, and musky, while humans had more of a warm, tangy, sharp odor. It seemed this was the area set aside for worshipers.

The others were gawking as well, but Hannah looked about herself in satisfaction. A small smile tugged at her lips.

_Not on your life, lady_, Thora thought grimly.

A low, herbal scent made itself known and grew in strength as the group approached a set of double doors. With a wave of his hand, Second Banana opened it and ushered them into a steam-filled room.

Thora was impressed.

The bathing chamber contained several deep depressions in the floor, large enough to accommodate several people each. Towels were heaped close to the far wall beside shelves of soaps, cloths, and unlabeled bottles. Banks of what seemed to be shower stalls lined the side walls. Beside the doors were mirrors and tables littered with combs and various ribbons, baskets of powders and creams, and cosmetics. Jennifer let out a low whistle.

Second Banana pulled a chair from one of these stations and sat. From the dark interior of his coat he drew a small hand-held device which beeped as he fiddled with it.

All of them hesitated, not eager to disrobe in front of a strange male, or, for that matter, a Wraith. Of course, Hannah was the one to take the initiative. Like a little teacher's pet, Thora seethed. She cast a glance over to Second Banana as Hannah stripped and sauntered toward one of the pools. He didn't deign to look up from his work, completely uninterested in anything to do with them. Thora shuffled herself out of her dirty clothes, darted over for some soap and washcloths, and stepped into Hannah's pool; it wouldn't do to express disunity, no matter how much she might want to.

The water was strange, slightly viscous and oily-feeling, but it was scented with a darkly spicy fragrance she found calming. There was a current under the surface as the water was cycled and filtered. One by one the women got in and sank gratefully into the warmth. For a time they luxuriated without washing, just content to be submerged in the Wraith version of a Jacuzzi tub.

The tinkling of water echoed in the silence of the chamber as Thora ducked under the surface to wet her hair. As the real bathing began, they talked a little. Whispered requests--"Can you wash my back?" "Tara, be a dear and hand me a washcloth."--grew into conversation and muffled exclaimations.

Thora blinked as Meredith handed her a bottle of what passed for shampoo. "There you are, sweetie."

"Holy crap," Thora blurted. A beautifully rendered koi fish, done in bright shades of red, orange, and vibrant yellow, took up most of the nurse's right bicep. She looked up at Meredith. "Sorry, I just had no idea you had a tattoo."

"Oh, I've had Fred here for a few years now," Meredith replied, fondly tracing the dark lines of 'Fred's' scales. "I always wanted a tattoo, and I just love koi ponds. They're so beautiful."

They scrubbed and splashed and talked for the better part of an hour, until Second Banana broke up their fun. Without looking up, he informed them that he had other duties to perform. Threads of resentment colored his tone, and the women were properly subdued. They dressed and combed their hair in relative quiet.

When Second Banana stood to escort them back, his eyes stopped on Thora and widened just a fraction. The expression was fleeting, though, and his face reverted quickly to its impatient mask. "Come," he intoned. He moved with all haste, and his uniform jacket fluttered behind him like the wings of a carrion crow.

The tunic in question practically swallowed her, leaving Thora with no doubt as to its origins. It had even smelled like Captain when she slipped it over her head, and she was a bit perturbed at the knowledge that she was wearing an article of his clothing. Maybe this was a twisted version of the Boyfriend's Letter Jacket phenomenon: he wanted her as his personal worshiper, and therefore she had a trophy shirt. The association made her feel...odd. Warm and cold at the same time.

Once they were safely back inside the cell, Second Banana returned his attention to her. "I require a sample of your writing."

"Uh...sure. Can I ask why?"

His cool yellow eyes told her that no, no she couldn't.

Sandra appeared at her elbow with a pen and thin book of pink Post-Its. Thora snorted a little and smiled. They were so colorful it was almost offensive in this place. After what was probably at least a month of nothing but black and shades of grey, the brightness hurt her eyes. She took up the pen.

There was no way she could be certain Captain was going to see it, but maybe... "Is there something in particular I should write, or just anything?"

"The Commander merely wishes to compare this writing to another sample. Anything will do."

Her eyebrows raised. Apparently one merely had to ask the right questions. "Say your right words," as it were. Not wanting to rouse Hannah's suspicion, she scrawled her message quickly and thrust the note through the bars at him. He took the brilliant pink sheet between two clawed fingers, as though unwilling to touch it more than absolutely necessary. With his obligations fulfilled, he turned and retreated into the dim bowels of the hive with a speed that surprised her.

"Guess he's not much for long goodbyes," she mused.

Behind her she heard the snap of cards. Sandra was shuffling the deck with a hopeful air. "Anyone for Spades?" she asked lightly.

Thora smiled.

***

_Loose lips sink ships. There are snakes in the grass. Turtles go fast on skateboards. Proper planning prevents piss-poor performance. ._

The Commander snorted. Hasty writing in black pen slashed across a backdrop of a color so bright, it hurt his eyes. In amongst the nonsense she'd written, Thora had managed to convey a somewhat-decipherable message.

She knew about her cellmate's betrayal and was attempting to warn him. Evidently his trust in her was not ill-founded. He had no idea what a turtle was, or a skateboard, and there was no reason for her to assume he did; he could ignore that line with reasonable safety. The fourth line taunted him. Did she refer to his planning, or was she planning something to save herself and her companions? The last word was completely foreign to him, and he hoped there was nothing concealed within it.

He placed the note carefully in a volume they had salvaged from Earth in order to give credence to his excuse; truly he did need a sample, but anything would have been sufficient. He was one of very few who could read any of the languages native to the ruined planet, and was unconcerned about others reading her words. They were suitably vague and random.

Her sense of desperation had been gradually increasing, but he would no longer risk a baseless appearance. He had decided that if she were merely frightened of the future, her words would be meaningless; but if there was something else troubling her, he'd been confident it would find its way into her missive. And so it had.

All that remained now was to discern whether she referred to a new plan of hers, or one of his.

* * *

A/N: Sheesh, this one was tough to write. Stupid plot-building chapters and their nothing-much-is-happening.

Thanks again for the lovely reviews! I truly appreciate the encouragement. This is the first time anyone other than close friends have read my stuff, so the feedback is indispensable. You guys are fabulous.

Spring Break is coming up, and thus so are midterms. Updates might be thin on the ground, so apologies in advance.


	8. Strolling a Rolling Deck

Meredith sought to match the long strides of the tall Wraith whom Thora called Second Banana. The exercise did nothing to calm her pulse, which was hovering somewhere around 100 BPM. She kept her eyes trained on the broad shoulders ahead of her, refusing to look at her surroundings. While it would ordinarily have been helpful to map out her location, she had it on Thora's authority that one hallway looked much like another. Besides, knowing where they were would offer them no help, since there was no way for them to hide or leave.

Plus, she really didn't want to know how many other Wraith were around her right now.

With two heartbeats for every heavy footstep Second Banana took, she was on her way to speak to the Commander. She had never wanted to throttle Hannah more than she did right now; if it weren't for that conniving bitch, Thora could be the one facing the powerful Wraith right now, and she herself could be back in the cell without having to stare into those frightening, soulless yellow eyes. Meredith was not a woman easily daunted, nor was she without courage, but here she was out of her depth and saw no point in concealing that fact.

Second Banana came to an abrupt halt, bringing her up short. "We are here," he announced in his cold, even voice. One clawed hand waved over a panel in the wall, and the door slid open.

The nurse took a deep breath and swiped her fingers over Fred. Far from being simply a fish, for her he was a symbol of comfort and strength. With a slow exhale, she straightened her shoulders and walked as confidently as she could into the den of her captor. As the door slid shut behind her, Meredith counted slowly to quell her rising panic at being shut in with this creature.

Bent over a tech pad with a thunderous scowl twisting his features, the creature in question didn't deign to acknowledge her for a full minute. She took the time to familiarize herself with his...well, with his alien-ness.

When he finally put aside the pad and trained those immense cat-eyes on her, Meredith was ready for him.

"You are the healer." The voice making the pronouncement was nearly deep enough to distort the dual-tones, allowing him to sound nearly human.

She squared her shoulders. "I am."

"Thora has informed me that you are trustworthy."

"I try to be."

The Commander stood and meandered leisurely in her direction, taking her in from head to toe as he did so. Towering head and shoulders above her, he cut an intimidating figure. More intimidating was the knowledge that he was not attempting to make her uneasy; he didn't have to. With her heart banging in her chest ever harder the nearer he came, she thought it was more honest to describe him as 'terrifying.' He stopped a respectful distance away, though considering his stature and species this was still uncomfortably close. "In this instance, human," he purred warningly, "you will be, or you will be dead."

She focused on the squared-off, gleaming toes of his tremendous boots and struggled to keep her composure. She made no reply, as there was no proper response that she could think of.

Once it became clear that he'd made his point, the Commander clasped his hands behind his back and removed himself from her personal bubble. He gave her some time, slowly wandering around his quarters and inspecting its contents as though browsing a museum, taking the gold fury of his gaze out of the equation. "There are many more layers to your situation," rumbled the Wraith, "than you are aware of at present. More layers continue to accumulate, I'm afraid, and what ought to be a very simple matter has become quite convoluted."

Having followed his broad back with her eyes as he'd walked himself around the room, she nearly squeaked when he suddenly rounded on her. "The missive Thora sent me suggested that your group had formulated a plan of sorts?"

_This is it_, she thought. Willing her voice to be strong, she cleared her throat and began. "We thought that a return to tradition might be in order."

One brow ridge quirked, a silent invitation to continue.

So, saints help her, she did. "From her conversation with you, Thora got the impression that we could live in confinement without... having to..." Meredith took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "Without having to be addicted to the enzyme you apparently..." Okay, talking about the feeding process and any and all pertinent equipment to a Wraith with the power and authority to kill her on the spot was a little out of her depth. "Anyway, if we would voluntarily continue to live like we do, forgoing the chance to set foot outside the ship without supervision, do you think we could skip the, ah... addiction process? Since there seems to be a historical precedent?"

"Hmm." He paced around the room again, head tilted forward, hands unclasped for this round. "If you were to do so, there would have to be a good reason for this...special dispensation. Precedence aside, there are current traditions and social climates to consider."

Quickly she sketched out the plan that she and the other girls had come up with. In an effort to lend added credibility to the idea, she reached back to her old life and did her very best "I'm-sure-it'll-turn-out-for-the-best" nurse's tone. A little out of breath from the rapid-fire outpouring, she drew a deep inhale and waited for the verdict.

He regarded her steadily, and she tried not to fidget. After what felt like years, he inclined his shaggy silver head. "If we proceed carefully, your suggestion may well grow the wings it will undoubtedly require," he mused.

Meredith was so relieved, she momentarily forgot herself. "You really think?" she asked, suspended between hope and incredulity.

She was surprised that he didn't lash out at her for speaking out of turn, and more surprised still when he gave a low, rolling chuckle. "I did not achieve my position without risk, nor did I reach my considerable age by being foolhardy. One does not attempt to flout the way of things without gambling with one's life; fortunately for you, your lives are already on the table, as it were, so we can afford to play an otherwise reckless... hand." By his side, his feeding hand flexed minutely.

The erstwhile nurse goggled at the enormous Wraith Commander. _Did...did he just make a pun?_ "Yes, fortunately," she replied, a little weakly.

His eyes abruptly focused over her head. Half a second later, she heard the door open. "This was a very productive interview. Please allow my Second to escort you back to your cell." He nodded to the Wraith behind her.

"Thank you," she murmured, and escaped gratefully into the relatively non-threatening hall.

As he opened the cell door for her, the Second gave her a quick, barely-perceptible nod.

After he left, the girls quit their cowering routine, which was now mostly an affectation. Jen, Tara, and Sandra began making conveniently noisy preparations for their ritual poker game while Hannah peered out suspiciously at them from her corner. With their precious score-keeping notebook in her hand as an excuse, Thora scooted closer and started flipping pages, pointing at random scribbles. Under this cover, with a bemused grin plastered on her lips, she asked urgently, "How did it go?"

Meredith frowned. The way she-and Tara, too-could school their expressions was nothing short of creepy. She did her best to make a show of figuring out which page kept their poker scores, and muttered back, "He says he's going to give it a try."

"You look like you're gonna toss your cookies."

"I just had a private audience with a Wraith!" she hissed back through what she hoped was an indulgent grin.

Thora emphatically bonked her forehead in the universal sign for _well, duh_ and pulled their pen out of the book's spiral, titling one of the pages 'Poker Scores' in unnecessarily large, easily legible letters. "Comparatively speaking, Captain isn't so bad."

"He made a...a _feeding hand_ pun," Meredith complained, shuddering.

Thora clapped her on the shoulder, and said with a genuine grin, "Didn't I tell you he was funny?"

So, so, so, SO sorry for the lack of update. . Thanks for holding out for me, guys. I've been a bad, bad girl.


	9. Drawing Circling Sharks

Over the next couple of days, every one of the women-Thora excepted-was summoned to Captain's quarters for a short interview. Through Jen, Tara, and Sandra communiques were delivered back and forth: lists of supplies, requirements, ideas for accommodations, and so on were drawn up or read when Hannah was either asleep or distracted. Upon their return, the other girls had been shaky and white-faced, just as Meredith had.

Phases one and two of Operation: Save Our Asses were complete. Now all that remained was the approval of the Queen.

Sighing quietly, Thora leaned her head back against the bars. In the maybe-morning hush, the girls were beginning to come awake. She watched Sandra lay out a game of solitaire and listened to the crisp _snap_ of each card put down. The edges, she noted, were beginning to turn up and tatter from constant use.

Despite having shared most other aspects of their situation, she hadn't touched much on the Queen and the whole can of worms accompanying her. All that knowledge could provide was more stress. Though she was staunchly opposed to optimism, in their position it was vital.

The tic in her right eye started up again. She held the heel of her hand against it until the twitching stopped. For the last day or so, it had been a near-constant problem. Since meeting the girls and starting this wild bid for survival, the swaddling blanket of indifference had been torn away from her; now she shivered in the frigid breeze.

And she knew the score better than they did.

While the others huddled in their blankets to preserve their warmth while they awaited the only answer they could, while Guy purred like an engine on her lap in blissful ignorance, while they hurtled through uncaring space past unfeeling planets, Thora closed her eyes and tried to have faith in Captain.

"I see your weakness is truly without limit." The Queen's greeting echoed within her chamber, and did not engender any great hope in the Commander.

"What has prompted so great an insult, my Queen?" Instinct, he reflected, was a thing easily eclipsed by something so pure as total hatred. Rather than a desire to protect and defer to this queen, he wanted badly to wring her neck for her disrespect.

She stalked toward him, all well-rehearsed, sinuous motion. "It is not what you have done. It is what you have failed to do."

Feigning ignorance was a tactic that worked well with her. It forced her to underestimate him, while having the added benefit of stroking her ever-expanding ego. "I have failed," he purred, "to take your meaning, my Queen."

"The humans," she growled, glowering up at him. "They are still sequestered. I will tolerate no more of your foolish hesitation. Kill them. Have them brought here, and kill them immediately."

A manic gleam in her eye betrayed her. She meant for him to refuse, and prove himself incapable and unfit. And therefore, disposable.

So his death was to be sooner rather than later. Interesting.

Without hesitation, he further inclined his head. "As you wish, my Queen. I delayed in order to offer you the unique distinction of being Queen of the only hive who could tame these creatures and suffer no losses. I see now that this was not a title that would please you." He turned abruptly to one of the drones guarding the door to the Queen's inner sanctum. "Bring them."

Just as the drone was moving to fulfill his command, the Queen bit at his lure.

"Stop." Her word halted the drone in his tracks. She stalked closer to the Commander, her repulsively lovely eyes searching the his face. "They have caused us no casualties?"

"They have not," he told her, quite truthfully. "We cocooned or killed outright those who were violent, and have suppressed those in question." He waited patiently for her greedy nature to win out. Whether it was to distinguish herself before the Primary or to bolster her own reputation within the alliance-possibly both-any achievement, no matter how insignificant, was worth pursuing. To be the first to manage what should have been a simple task with apparently no effort was sorely tempting, as he had hoped it would be.

She had not yet developed the delaying tactics that served their political veterans so well, and as she mulled over this piece of information her mental acrobatics were plainly reflected in her expression. Before she gave her reluctant assent to his rough proposal, he knew he had won. At her request, he regurgitated the plans fed to him by the females he'd interviewed, pleased at their careful reasoning. The sibilant dismissal she spat at him, warning him of dire consequences should he fail her, made no impact.

His show of obeisance lacked nothing. Only once he was safely alone in the confines of his command suite did he release a choked, furious snarl.

With every cell and breath he possessed, he despised her. Her ignorance was predictable, her acts of idiocy no longer surprising; but for her not to know-or care to know-whether any of her own crew had perished was nothing short of astonishing. When it came to the weaknesses of those she sought to exploit or expend, she was the very fount of knowledge. Her level of education regarding those under her command should surpass all else, but she remained deliberately and willfully clueless.

He drew one hand down his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. How could he have overlooked such a glaring deficiency? All this time, he and his Second had labored under the misconception that she was simply selfish; after all, queen Wraith were born cloaked in power, of which corruption was part and parcel. He wondered now how many mistakes and avoidable deaths were the bastard results of apathy rather than abominably poor judgment.

The Queen had to die, and much sooner than he had hoped. A deadline must be set.

Hiding an enormous secret was difficult under usual circumstances. Trying to keep a secret from one woman in a group of six while sharing a small cell was nigh impossible.

It was inevitable that Hannah would eventually deduce that the five of them were up to something. The specifics, luckily, could mostly be withheld from her; but they had a significant disadvantage, in that they couldn't account for her accurate guesses.

Narrow blue eyes peered out at them more often in the days since Hannah's conference with Captain, lingering on details that would previously have gone ignored. She was becoming bolder, too, not even playing at subtlety. If Jen scribbled something in their notebook, it was a good bet that Hannah would leave her bedding to check it. Jen had, of course, taken the opportunity to scrawl rude drawings of phalluses in all manner of sizes and detail, but this didn't seem to phase the girl in the slightest.

Meredith was the only one who noted the way her hand hovered above her hip when they drew near to her.

The Commander was not given to belief in myth, but neither was he one to discount reality. Evidence was evidence, whether or not he wanted to reject what it implied.

During this self-imposed waiting period-protracted because he was certain the Queen was testing him, waiting to see if he bolted to the humans with this news-his private research allowed him to distract himself and retain his outward placidity. Remaining aloof was essential to keeping his command. In the lab he could vent his simmering frustration without prying eyes wondering what caused his fit of pique.

Previous tests had located various Wraith genes in Thora's makeup, which was both unsurprising and useful. Indeed, it had been instrumental in defending her from the one she'd called "Sunshine." Humans carrying modified Wraith DNA often proved troublesome, and were-on rare occasions-able to tap minutely into the Wraith hive mind. He had heard many tales, some too outlandish to bear belief, about an Athosian allied with the New Lanteans who could do such a thing, and reap deadly results. These he had thought to be exaggerations to cover the shame of defeat; looking at his screen now, he grudgingly allowed for the possibility that these reports had been accurate.

The long-dead Wraith who'd been fool enough to insert their genes into human subjects had also possessed the necessary intelligence to stop before the concentration of genes was adequate to allow these subjects complete access to the Wraith consciousness. Unfortunately, either he had failed to account for subsequent generations... or the Lanteans had dabbled in this field as well, and been far more liberal in their application.

Growling softly on an exhale, he sat back and stared at the readout before him. It was not impossible that the Lanteans had noticed the Wraith's foray into genetics, nor that they would then have the audacity to repeat the experiment themselves without any idea what they were creating. Now, the question became: in which galaxy had they implemented their foolhardy ideas? The purpose was self-explanatory, with examples like the legendary Athosian standing out prominently; but how successful had they been, and how many potential genetic disasters awaited them, and when?

He rubbed his forehead. There were no peaceful moments anymore. Between the civil war and the New Lantean war, and inter-Hive politics, and alliances, and the Hybrids-absent their figurehead, but no less dedicated for the loss-he felt crushed. Now they must brace themselves against mental attacks from humans, with no idea which would present the threat.

Time. He needed time to deal with these things delicately, to plan his steps with care. None would be forthcoming, he supposed; he'd never felt so hopeless after even a meager victory.

With his head down, the Commander didn't notice the briefly flashing alert on his screen, notifying him that another scientist was accessing the data on his terminal.

After what seemed to be a three-day waiting period, there was finally a promise of action. Sandra heard the boots, and alerted the other girls. When Second Banana and his entourage arrived, the girls were upright and facing them.

"Howdy," Thora quipped over the banging of her heart. Her eye resumed its spasmodic twitching.

Under the blue lights above, the assembled Wraith looked nearly ethereal. The craggy shadows cast by Second's sharp features lent him too gloomy a cast on closer inspection; to Thora, he looked rather like the angel of death, with a serious chip on his shoulder. She could almost smell the anxiety issuing from him.

With the waiting over, the moments it took him to open his mouth and reveal their fates coalesced into an unbroken and interminable stretch of madness.

"The Queen," he rumbled softly, "has decided to keep you as... special worshipers. You will remain incarcerated. You will not be allowed to move freely about the hive without an escort, nor will you be allowed to disembark alone on the rare occasions when we dock. Should you fail to adequately discharge your duties, or in any other respect, you will die."

Thora heard a strangled gasp among marked sighs of relief. Evidently Hannah was disappointed with this turn of events. _Good_, she thought viciously. She nodded her understanding, and opened her mouth to inquire when this change would take place, but Second had apparently finished with them. She watched until the gleam of his hair was extinguished by the dimness.

Well, she reflected, at least it was happening. Though it was odd, she didn't feel particularly triumphant-

From behind her came a muffled shriek, and a brief scuffle. As she wheeled around, a hot, liquid rush spattered over her face, followed by a second, less forceful wave. She fell back against the bars, temporarily blinded by the stinging fluid in her eyes. A weight smacked into her shoe. The other girls were screaming as she attempted to dash the stuff from her eyes, but it was viscous and she was drenched with it. Finally she located a dry section of her shirt. Once she saw her red-washed hands, she wished she hadn't bothered.

Beside the muddy-red toe of her Chuck Taylors was a dagger. It was double-edged, made for stabbing, and small; though the four inches of steel was large enough to do its job. The rustic design intimated its origins quite strongly.

Unwillingly, she looked slowly upward. On her knees, clawing at her throat for breath, was Hannah. Her throat was a ruin of red blood, pale skin, and gleaming cartilage. To one side stood Meredith, with blanched face and trembling hands, clutching the green plastic handle of a scalpel.

Gurgles from the dying girl were the only sounds Thora could hear over the rushing of blood in her ears. Part of her mind, insulated by shock from the horror in front of her, observed that this ragged tragedy was quite unlike the neat red lines portrayed in movies. Another part, less insulated, was still stuck on the blood coating her, cooling and congealing on the skin of her back, arms, and face.

A grey pair of shell-shocked eyes locked on limpid brown just as the door to their cell was flung wide. The girls screamed afresh and rushed forward to stop the drone dragging out Meredith. As that dreaded hand descended, they heard her scream. They banged against the bars restraining them, pushed against the door, held fast by the drone's companion, but gained no purchase.

And then it was over.

Thora sank to her knees. What had once been their kind-eyed nurse, her savior, was no longer. Hot tears washed some of the gore from her face. She reached to touch the whitened strands of Meredith's hair, but stopped before she could stain it with the blood of their enemy. Tara knelt beside her, silently horrified. Behind them, Sandra wailed and covered her face with her hands. Jen did her best to console the girl, turning them to face an unpolluted stretch of hallway.

Square-toed boots appeared in Thora's view. They gleamed so sedately that the girls didn't at first take notice, but eventually looked up to see Second Banana standing over them. Over Meredith. He looked completely dumbfounded by what had just taken place. For a moment, his Supreme Predator mask slipped. It wasn't regret Thora saw in his eyes, or sadness exactly, but it was plain to see that, from his perspective, things had gone suddenly and horribly wrong.

"These," he said softly, as though somehow unsure of himself, "will be recorded...inventively."

Mutely, she nodded. It was a cold, practical comfort: violence among them would cause trouble for the remaining four. Meredith would have wanted her heroism covered up, if it meant that they would get along easily.

What seemed an age later, Second Banana returned to lead the stricken women to the bathing chamber. He conscientiously waited outside for them to finish after pointing out fresh clothes in one of the cabinets.

Sandra and Jen huddled together, the older woman making soothing sounds as she combed the girl's hair. Thora watched them for a while, making no move to disrobe or wash. Dissociation made staring into space much easier than moving.

"C'mon, sweetie." Tara guided her to the edge of one of the pools. She helped Thora wrestle off her blood-stiffened clothes and wash the foulness from her hair. When they had finished, the water was tinged pink despite the filtration system. The pair joined the other members of their grim sisterhood, and for a time they sat in silence.

Thora brushed her damp hair out of her eyes, musing over the things Captain had told her. Now that they'd jumped the most immediate hurdle, and given the tragedy of the day, it would be stupid to continue withholding the information. "Captain... he told me some things." Eyes snapped to her. "About the Queen, about the Wraith. I was supposed to keep it secret, but... well, what's the point."

As thoroughly as should could, she detailed all the relevant portions of the conversations she'd censored before: the Queen, the politics, the war. She drew back the curtain to show them that the solid ground they'd been struggling to reach was a simple illusion.

"It's a survival game, then," said Tara. "Just politics for the Wraith, but survival for us."

"Survival for them, too," Thora muttered. "At least, for Captain's side."

"Guess we've chosen the right side, then." Jen clenched her jaw.

Sandra sank down into the water. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. "It wasn't much of a choice." She sniffed loudly. "So what do we do now?"

Nobody spoke for a time. Tara quoted succinctly, "Ride, Sally, ride." The others stared at her. She sighed and said, "Meredith wouldn't want us to abandon the plan because we lost her. There's no question of what we do now." She stared back at each of them in turn. "We keep on, stay alive, and get the hell out of here as soon as possible."

The first fatalities in what felt like an intra-hive war had come. The Commander could feel Thora's shock and heartache, but had been clueless as to its cause until his Second came to report. Knowing what had led up to the situation he was unsurprised; still, the fear from Thora's near miss gripped him. Their healer had perished, in keeping with the standing orders regarding violent humans.

"The time is approaching," he said softly.

His Second said nothing. He had withdrawn in the past few days; having never been a communicative creature, the change was dramatic.

Perhaps a question, then. "What is being done?"

"I left them in the bathing chamber. The drones are clearing out their cell. Soon their permanent rooms will be ready, and they can be relocated."

"Did you have any idea," he asked softly, "that the Queen was not appraised of the deaths of the crew?"

The Second opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it. After a moment he collected himself. "That is supposed to be part of the daily reports given to her."

"And who has been delivering the reports?"

"The tertiary commander, of course. He sends the updates to her datapad, as she requested."

"Clearly she has been neglecting to read them." The Commander studied his hands. "We must do something much sooner than we'd hoped."

"You've said this before. How soon?"

Through a knot of uncertainty, he said, "As soon as can be."

The Second's head inclined in acknowledgement. "I want to be sure, Commander, that we are not flying at the issue rashly because of these humans. I wonder if the one you saved has undue influence over you."

The answering growl echoed off the carapace surrounding them. "You have participated in the planning thus far, and now you question my motives?"

"I question the timing. We have seen the most intricate plans come to nothing because the players rushed their parts, have we not?"

"We have," the Commander agreed. "However, we have also seen plans go awry because the players missed their cue. We cannot be content under a chafing yoke simply because we have a plan. It must be implemented, and the sooner we do, the better." This said, he stalked off to the bridge, the taste of someone else's fear tainting his tongue.

The Second waited until the echoes of his Commander's footfalls dissipated before removing his personal datapad and making a covert entry.


End file.
